Inferno
by Rihaku
Summary: [K x L x A x C] Hell is where the heart is.
1. Through the Looking Glass

Disclaimer: I do not purport to own Gundam Seed, Destiny, or its affiliated characters.

A/N: Rihaku here. This is my first GSeed fanfic, so I'm probably going to suck at characterization and dialogue. If you have any suggestions at all, feel free to leave a review or contact me at my email address.

"_But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked._

_"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_

_"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice._

_"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."_

C. E. 71

---

She was pearlescent. Dainty skin tinged with the trace of a blush, she stared at him, eyes brilliant, then confused. Her mouth widened to an O and she shied away, arms clutching each other.

"You're…" Her voice was small, a dying flame.

He considered for a moment, a finger on his lips. Then, he whirled away, boots clapping stone-like against the hanger floor. "Yes."

She floated down, hair swirling like a calligraphy pen in the zero gravity. "Oh." Her eyes flicked from side to side, shining like pools. Haro hummed around her, bleeping warningly. "What will you do with us?"

In mid-stride, he paused, tilted his head a bit. "I do not intend to hurt you."

He strode away, inexorable. Light slanted in colorless shafts across the hanger, eclipsed by slowly turning fans hissing from above. A pair of shadows detached from the walls, bled into men, stood in front of her. She detected deference, a hint of amusement. No hostility.

"Um…"

They exchanged crow's feet glances. "Please come with us, Miss Clyne. We'll show you to your quarters."

Shepherding Haro along with the curve of her palm, she followed. For the moment, it had quieted, occasionally emitting a curious whirr. Ahead, one of the men sneezed violently, and she stumbled back. The other chuckled, his eyes wrinkling into slits. "Don't mind him, Miss Clyne, Norman's been down with the cold lately. Unusual for a Coordinator, neh?"

She nodded hesitatingly. "Y-Yes." Then, as if jolted: "Oh! My manners! Bless you, Mister Norman."

Grinning, he shook his head. "You're a saint, Miss Clyne. Don't worry 'bout us, though, we're going straight down once we die." His friend thumped him on the back, sparking a coughing fit.

Lacus Clyne took a step back, hand on her mouth. "Are you alright?"

The thumper's eyes laughed at her. "Like he said, Miss Clyne, don't worry 'bout it. Anyway, we'd best get you to your chambers before Captain charges us with derelicsion of duties!" 'Captain' was enunciated crisply, in contrast to his normal speech. She couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or respect.

Standing smartly, he began marching down the hall. She re-oriented herself as she hit half gravity, trailing him with her fingers tracing the wall. Haro buzzed around, eager to absorb its new surroundings.

For a rogue ship, it was well-maintained, the walls a neutral pastel with carefully inscribed, color-coded markings on each corner. Rooms flanked her and spread along the hall in orderly file, receding into a cross-shaped intersect in the distance. They paced easily along the passageway for about fifteen minutes before Norman stopped at a door, its mechanized sliding system firmly shut. The display-panel which indicated room rank was, curiously, blank.

She cocked her head to one side, looked at her amiable captors. "Here?"

They passed a card before the panel, and the door zoomed open. "Yup. Captain ordered officer's quarters for you after he confirmed your identity. You need us, there's a button on the inside."

It could have been worse – she had certainly been expecting worse. "Well then, I'll just…"

"Oh!" Norman slapped his forehead, handing her the card. "Meals are in the Commons, 5 AM, 11 AM, and 6 PM. You need directions, they're on the corners of every hall. If you're unsure for the first day, just beep us. We're your wardens, per se."

She was taken aback. "You're letting me go wherever I want?"

He shrugged. "Captain doesn't think you're much of a threat. You're allowed anywhere on the ship but his quarters and the hanger."

At this, the other man spoke up: "Trust us, he's serious about that kind of stuff. You don't wanna an-tag-o-nize the Captain."

"Ah, okay. I'll just be in here then!" She gave a halfhearted smile, attempting to cheer them up, then ushered Haro in the room behind her. The door shut with a pneumatic hiss. She slumped on the crisply made bed, breathing out a sigh.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it, Haro?" It chirped miserably, pattering around her shoulders.

"Yes, I feel that way too." She took Haro into her arms, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The walls were placid, but not welcoming. She turned on the bed, creasing the sheets, as she surveyed her quarters for the foreseeable future: a functional table, middling closet, small chair. To the side, a door that led – presumably – to her washroom.

Yawning, she absently petted Haro, then set it free. The air conditioning was bitterly cold, knifing through her dress, and she shivered before climbing under the sheets, pulling them snug around her neck. The world swayed, dimmed, faded. Her eyelids slid shut.

---

A rapping at the door: cold, impatient. Haro twirled around her head, nettling her into wakefulness. She blinked bleary eyes, sat up. The blankets slid off her shoulders as she turned her head, _oh!_ed to herself. Straightening her hair, she clambered out of bed, steeled herself against the cold, then depressed the doorpad.

The Captain stood testily, a tray of food in his hand. As she rubbed an eye, he glared at her expectantly.

"May I enter?" His voice was chipped ice.

She backstepped in a hurry, drowsiness cut away. "Yes, certainly!" He was even more overwhelming up close. Haro withered from him, drooping into a far corner of the room.

_Tsk_ing, he strode rapidly into the room, deposited the food on her bedside counter. It steamed merrily, and she felt her stomach clench in anticipation. "The lights are voice-activated. When you no longer feel like sleeping, just tell the panel 'Lights On.'"

Swiftly unwrapping her napkin and utensils, he set them on the counter, then turned to her.

"I apologize for the incompetence of my men. I had told them to send a meal an hour ago but they were too busy gossiping to remember." His face was cast into shadow by light blazing from the hallway, a stark rectangle into the room. All she could see were eyes like cut amethysts, glacier-sharp. Curled up in the bed, her knees bent, she stared up at him, a cornered fawn.

She summoned her courage, venturing a question: "How long have I been sleeping?"

He regarded her coolly, turned away. "It's been three hours since we retrieved you. Currently it is twelve PM your time. Finish your food, set the tray out on the table. Then get some rest."

"Why did you save me?"

His hand clasped the side of her doorframe as he glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Leverage."

---

_Two weeks prior _

_Space was a blight of vacuum. Stars punched cold pinpricks of light into the empty firmament. Below: the arc of Earth, spilling blue-green into the void, life a thin film plastered on. And, burning towards space: a ship, angel-pale. He veered to the left, observing this craft that would be bait and prey. A trail of sparks, sunburst-bright, scattered in his wake. _

_Twisting behind debris, he scouted the targets, dancing carefully around scanner range – not that they would be concerned with him, by this point. In the distance, four stars twinkled, exhaust fans hissing like water aboil. He judged distance, the engagement speed, thruster skill. They moved like a flood, surging forth, covering one another. Red flashed, blue, green, black: a peacock tail, twining downwards. _

_They weren't good enough. _

_He slipped into their backstream, drew his gun. It glinted with reflected light, diamond-hard. And then he was upon then, an avenging spectre. _

_Broken from their rhythm, they were slow. He pulled his thrust, snapping off twelve shots, whirling madly to the side, evading their counter-fire. The black one had been sluggish, turned his shoulder directly into a blast. It reeled; the others remained untouched. An acid green bolt sizzled inches from his knee frame. He darted out of view, drawing them in. _

_Like sheep, they complied. And then he was among them, a wolf. A smattering of shots zoomed into the vacuum, and they scattered before the deadly rain. He drew his sword, vaulted onto the red one with matchless skill, plunged the tip of his blade into armor like a serpent sinking fang- _

_And the precision-cut steel stopped, blunted. He cursed to himself. _Phase Shift _– so the rumors were true. He flipped off, evading the retaliatory beam strike. Turning, he found himself surrounded. _

_The legged ship opened fire, deployed its lonely sentinel. _

_Distracted, the other three suits fired off, flitting like birds between the lethal ship batteries. He stared at his opponent, noted the inscription on its side. _

GATX-303 Aegis.

_A sufficient prize. _

_He funneled energy to the beam rifle, raised it as if in salute. _

_His foe exploded across space, a crimson blur. Beam sabers erupted from its hands, cutting the void. He dodged the first clumsy slash, brought down his hand in a punishing blow to the joint. Impact jarred him more than his opponent – Phase Shift was a devil to contend with. Exploiting the opening, Aegis stabbed viciously towards his torso, right-left-right in a controlled combination. He threw himself back, escaping the spears of light. Hoarsely, the Ambition strained, its engines unable to compensate for his rash maneuvering. He cursed, twisted past another blow, then grappled his foe's overextended arm. _

_With a grin, he locked the arm behind his adversary's back, spun away to flank the red suit, their torsos touching. He raised his elbow with an executioner's air. _

"_Now," His eyes narrowed. "let's see how tough Phase Shift really is." _

_He smashed the bladed refractor crystal downwards, a stiletto. It promptly shattered, organic crystal whipping into space as glasslike shards. Frowning, he kicked the Aegis downwards, punched off a volley of impeccable shots. _

_The suit smoothly brought up its shield, absorbed the blasts. Then, sabers drawn, it closed in once more, confident in its invincibility. He threw his useless longsword at it, aiming for the face. Twitchy, it raised its shield to deflect, blocked its own view of the two energy bursts he proceeded to fire. Two smoking tunnels marred its cardinal surface, hissing in the empty cold. _

_Furious, his opponent advanced again, forward thrust unimpeded by its effective amputation. _

_Growling to himself, he urged the Ambition to the right, turning outside the searing arc of his foe's beam saber. The steel of his joints groaned, approaching their limit. Then, fire bloomed across his backside, a lance of energy sped past. _

_The green suit – the Buster? – had broken its engagement with their primary target, come to overwhelm him. He rotated slowly, kept both foes in view. With an engine flare, they spread to the sides, flanking him. He fired off two rounds at the Buster, then tackled the Aegis, ramming the armored juggernaut with his shoulder. It stumbled back, ajar. He winced as his shoulder crystals imploded from impact. _

_Still, he had procured the necessary edge. He slammed his fist, a black-blue blur, into the chest of the off-balance Aegis, concussing its pilot. Dipping down, he avoided the Buster's hesitant spray, snatched blood-red beam sabers from boneless hands. _

_Twirling one lightly, he tested the heft, weight, then smiled. The Buster took careful aim, fired. He soared past the ray, saber rising in a vicious crescent. It swooped up, drawing sparks on the Buster's paint, skimming the edge of the armor. His opponent raised its long-barreled rifle in a warding gesture, fleeing melee range with apogee thrusters. He pursued, speared the gundam like a fish, his blade diving through glass, steel, flesh. _

---

Athrun Zala slammed his palm on the desk, turned with arctic propriety to the blank-faced stare of his superior.

"Commander. We've suffered devastating losses since the Artemis mission. I do not believe, at this point, that continued pursuit of the Ashitsuki would be a sound idea."

Le Creuset nodded thoughtfully. "And, Yzak, your opinion on this?"

"Absolutely not!" Yzak Joule's unmarked face blazed resentfully at Athrun. "The Naturals have escaped time after time through sheer idiot luck and timely interventions. With the pirate threat crippled by our previous counterattack, we should be able to crush whatever resistance they can hold. Their best pilot can barely _move _in that mobile suit!"

"You're letting your emotions control you, Yzak." Athrun's tone was countermanding. "Dearka and Nicole would not have wanted us to move rashly just to revenge them."

"Bastard!" Mouth twisting into a sneer, the silver-haired redcoat clenched his fists at his sides. Quivering with fury, he bit out a retort. "What's wrong with pressing our strategic advantage? The Naturals are even more wounded than we are, and running low on supplies. If we strike now, we can eliminate their dangerous technology forever!"

The white-faced mask bobbed up and down, interceded. "Cool yourselves, gentlemen. You are redcoats. Yzak, how are you so sure their luck has run thin?"

Blindsided, Yzak's mouth opened, closed, like a fish taking water. Regaining his composure, he faced Le Creuset, keeping the infuriating Zala out of view. "I never believed in luck in the first place. But regardless of how well chance has favored the Naturals, they can't keep winning. We destroyed Artemis before they could properly resupply – they're bound to be running low on munitions and rest. They're practically within arm's reach! If we don't move decisively, they'll merge with their 8th Fleet, and, with recent losses, we'll be outgunned."

Le Creuset smiled, a spider in his web. "A well-articulated case, Joule. We will proceed with my original plan – to intercept the Legged Ship en route to its rendezvous with the 8th Fleet and to terminate it."

His arm came up for a salute, dismissing the surviving pair. They fired theirs off in response, Athrum grim; Yzak vicious.

---

"When are we in action?" Yzak tossed his towel on the couch, hefted himself over its back and hard on the seat.

Zala, enthralled by the screen, ignored him. _Him, a sore loser? Pathetic._ Yzak launched a pillow at the blue-haired pilot, his expression contentious. Irritably, Zala batted it away, skewered him with a glare. Voice tight, he delivered a very impolitic ultimatum.

"Not now, Yzak. This is important."

_Unlike him. What's so great about the new-_

"We repeat, the PLANT civilian ship _Silverwind_, carrying Lacus Clyne to the Bloody Valentine Memorial, was destroyed yesterday by suspected Earth Alliance Forces. Miss Clyne herself is missing – we are currently unable to report on her status. Truly, this is a dark day for all of Plant, and we join Supreme Chairman Siegal Clyne in fervent prayer for his daughter's safety. Stay tuned as we'll…"

Yzak violently clicked off the screen.

"Those damned Naturals!" He seethed, baring his alabaster teeth. "To sink this low…attacking civilian ships…Lacus Clyne! Now do you see the idiocy of your 'opinions,' Zala?"

Athrun's knuckles were paler than bone. "Get out. I've got no patience to deal with you."

Perhaps it was respect for Athrun's grief – more likely, just plain exhaustion, but, surprisingly, the other Elite complied. Yzak rose tiredly, passed through the sliding portal without a word.

---

"How is it going?" Hibiki Kira clipped towards his mobile suit, slumping crucified on the far end of the hanger. His mechanics swarmed over the mechanical behemoth, ants on a corpse. A blonde-haired, fair-skinned man with a brutish handlebar mustache hailed the Captain, moving briskly to accost his superior.

Kira came to a halt, his magnetic soles booming the echo of his steps across the massive cavity.

"Ah, Captain sir, it'll be good to go within seventy-two hours." Fingering his mustache, the Chief Mechanic handed Kira a clipboard smothered in notes.

Scanning the checklist disapprovingly, Kira commented archly: "We've been held up here for two days, waiting for combat effectiveness. You're telling me we're going to be sitting ducks for three more?"

Joseph Sturgeon's pallid complexion paled even further. "Well, Captain, it's- it's not exactly a matter of course to replace lost limbs like this. There are a lot of internal damages, and we've got to re-filter the-"

"Enough. What of the salvaged mobile suits?"

Sturgeon raised a powerful arm, pointed to the opposite end of the hanger. Two mobile suits lay partially recumbent, their insides laid open, like felled giants. One, which had been speared cleanly through the cockpit, was a dead gray, its hyper impulse rifle laid carefully to the side. The other was a burn-charred and pockmarked monstrosity of steel, its metallic innards hanging loose and hissing with steam as technicians picked over it like scavengers. Plates of its armoring had been removed, laid flat on the floor for inspection. Its relatively undamaged head, however, shined blacker than midnight.

"The coloration effect is a consequence of the phase-shift armor?"

"Yes, sir. As you can see, we're still knee-deep in the mechanics, trying to decipher its secrets."

Kira was implacable. "I sent you and your team a memo on this hours ago. There are no 'secrets' to decipher. Why is this not equipped on the Ambition?"

"Well, you see, we all understand the thing from a theoretical perspective – your treatise did clear that up – but we still haven't figured out its practical application. The whole system requires a huge amount of energy, and with the Ambition's already watt-heavy rapid propulsion systems, we haven't quite managed to incorporate the armor and… leave you with any combat endurance." Joseph finished, somewhat shocked that his Captain hadn't cut him off.

Kira was gazing intently at the vivisected Blitz, eyes somewhat glazed. "It's rare that we have to kill people. They should have surrendered, knowing our reputation."

"Er- indeed, sir. Very foolish of them."

He pointed to the hole in the Buster. "Why aren't you working on that one? I retrieved it first and it's nearly unharmed."

"Well, sir, we had discovered that you had, in fact, wiped out its entire OS and storage systems with your beam saber. We tried looking at it, but the Blitz is much easier to handle, since its computers are comparatively intact."

"You can't even cannibalize its battery?" Kira's eyes widened, resentful that his work had been in vain.

"Sorry, sir, the battery system was also destroyed by your blow."

"A waste." Kira turned again to the Blitz. "How are you doing on the Mirage Colloid technology?"

"Well, sir, our progress seems to fit your initial predictions."

Kira raised his eyebrows. "None? You're telling me that our attacks on a highly trained and well-guarded ZAFT insertion vessel were fruitless?"

Joseph rubbed the back of his neck, sweat prickling down his forehead. Whenever the Captain acted surprised, they were in for a blowup. "Well, sir, I wouldn't call it entirely fruitless – we did get more of the beam sabers you liked so much, insight into the redcoat's hacking methods, and a good supply of raw and refined materials. Without these, we would've had to make another salvage run just to fix up the Ambition!"

"So all our efforts amounted to a glorified salvage run." Kira was less than enthused. Loosing an uncharacteristic sigh, he glared sideways at the Ambition, thrust the checklist at his mechanic's chest. "Fourty-eight hours."

With a last glance at Lacus Clyne's intercepted escape module, he stalked away, ready to end the day. The pains were returning – he had been running too high, too long.

---

Joseph Sturgeon dropped back to the Ambition's side, wiping his creased brow of sweat. Picking up a wrench, he rapped it against the half-wall of the service pit.

"You guys think you've got it rough," he shouted to the mechanics, "I've got to deal with _him_." He jacked his thumb backwards, over his shoulder.

They snickered, blind to his plight.

---

Murrue Ramius leaned inconsolably on the crux of her palm, hair disheveled.

"You know, a ship's captain needs to have good posture. You're the backbone of this vessel." A mug, unmarked ceramic, was set steaming before her nose. It smelled like caffeine and heaven, both of which she was sure she hadn't smelled before. Maybe she was getting delusional in her old age?

Mwu la Flaga hunkered down on the seat opposite her, taking a sip of the brew. He made a face. "It's not great, but I think your position takes precedence over your palate." He motioned with mug hand to the untouched cup.

She was hallucinating alliterations now. Time to fall back chemical stimulants: she caressed the heated side of the mug, raised it to her lips. It was like drinking bile in oil; she gagged it down.

"Whew, that's better. Thanks, Mwu."

He swiveled playfully in his chair, a lord surveying his domain. "Think nothing of it. When are we catching up to Halberton?" He snapped his foot up, caught the desk, arresting his momentum.

She squashed her cheek in her wrist, met his ocean-blue gaze. "Less than eight days. The Le Creuset team hasn't made any overt attempts at following us since that black mobile suit attacked them the second time."

Mwu shrugged. "If they think he's helping us, all the better for the _Archangel_. Tell you the truth, I just can't figure out that Strike. If I had to go against Le Creuset undistracted, we wouldn't stand a chance."

She closed her eyes, took a slow, masochistic gulp of the coffee. "Well, we all know you're trying your best, Mwu. Have the children settled in okay?"

He grinned. "They're doing fine. We've got a decent crew – hey, you think I could coax one of them into flying the Strike for me? Really, I think we'd do better just deploying my Zero."

Squinting at him, she shook her head. "A teenager, piloting Strike? That's crazy. You're sure I'm the one that needs sleep?"

---

Ashitsuki: Legged Ship, ZAFT's name for the Archangel.

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	2. Prelude Canto

Rihaku again. Yeah, I update fast. But I won't be able to maintain this pace forever! Writers need reviews to live, you know.

**Warning: **This is an AU. Kira is _very _OOC.

* * *

_"Genetic enhancement raises the prospect of a society where…people are treated as things that can be changed according to someone else's notions of human perfection."_

-Canadian Royal Commission on New Reproductive Technologies, "Gene Therapy and Genetic Alteration,"

She sat up, wrapped the blankets around her shoulders. Haro rolled off the bed, plopped on the floor before unwrapping its ears, flapping into the air.

"I wonder what time it is?" There were no clocks in the room, nor outlets – strange for an officer's cabin. Perhaps they had sealed them off, afraid that Haro was capable of communicating through any jack?

Sliding off the bed, she shrugged the blankets off, promising herself that she would make the bed later. The tray was gone, and the lights were on. Who had access to this chamber? Swirling around, she looked in vain for a thermostat. This air conditioning really was a bit much.

The hall was more bearable – maybe the Captain had set the temperature to discourage her from staying in her room, away from the scrutiny of the crew? She shook her head, frowning to herself. As a prisoner, there was no way she would be encouraged to leave her holding place. Haro bumped against one of the walls, then drifted over to the door, pressed its slidelock with a galvanizing bounce.

In spite of her condition, she smiled indulgently.

"Not yet, Pink-chan. Let's make a good first impression, okay?"

Yawning, she slipped into the bathroom, combing her hair with the tips of her fingers.

---

Lacus Clyne peeked out of her doorway, walked into the hall. Freshened up, she batted Haro playfully to the side, carded the door closed. The passageway was deserted, though she heard the din of conversation in the distance._ The walls must be thin in a ship this small._

Making her way to the edge of the corridor, she kneeled, fingers tracing the inscriptions on the wall. As she examined the unhelpfully small text, the hum of voices became clear, accompanied by footfalls behind her. She rose, glanced over her shoulder. A bearish, gold-haired man raised his sausage-thick arm in salutations. He was accompanied by a mob of mechanics, judging by the grease on their uniforms.

"Lost, Miss Clyne?"

She managed a smile. "Well, I have been looking for the kitchen Commons, but the directions are very hard to read."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Did Norman tell you to use those? Don't. They were there when we captured this ship, and we've moved things around. If you're looking for the Commons, you can tag along with us."

Her smile this time was genuine. "Gladly! Come on, Pink-chan."

---

He reclined against one of the chairs, listlessly sticking a fork into his mouth. Around him, they buzzed, a swarm. The commons were crowded on the _Corsair_ – hanger space and speed, two usually conflicting priorities, were key on a raid and salvage ship. His crew enjoyed the familiar atmosphere of the space. He did not. The tables were slick rectangles, kept color-leeched clean by all diners. The walls rebuffed him, monochrome plates.

Above, bright fluorescents cast a flood of light into the room, throwing his face into shadow. He bowed his head, mopped up the remainder of his food. Sighing, he washed the gruel down with a long draught of water – John was a skilled cook, but they hadn't been on a supply run in a while. He surveyed the crew, which kept a wide berth around their competent, but glacial, captain. Breakfast was winding down and the mechanics still had not shown. When he quoted a time he expected the job finished in half.

_If Sturgeon weren't so lazy I could be eating in my room. Does he enjoy forcing me to brood in the presence of my men?_

There was a tromping sound from the hall, the hard-rubber footfall of engineering boots. He fixed his face in an expression of disapproval.

They traipsed in, supremely smug, grease marks on their fatigues and hair mussed by sweat. His frown deepened. If his crew would just follow the sanitation guidelines, then they, Coordinators all, would never get sick. Not even Norman's example – well, it hadn't been much of one – had set them straight.

Then she came in, a star to their asteroid belt.

Her hair was liquid, flowed down elegant shoulders, back. She conversed with the men easily, laughing as she tended to her constant companion, the pink mechanical blob. As they broke the threshold into the commons, her eyes darted like a child's at play, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. They found him, alighted on his lonely form with – Fear? Confusion? Pity?

Useless emotions, all. He stood, deposited his tray, stalked over to Sturgeon, who was showing their captive around the Commons with various overpronounced flourishes. He stopped behind the effusive German, tapped him on the shoulder.

Joseph whirled around, the expression on his face a frozen trout. "Oh! Sir! I was…erm, just showing Miss Clyne around."

Kira remained silent, eyes like daggers.

"Um…sorry about the mess we're making, but the men just got off a hard shift and…"

"Oh! Speaking of shifts, we're _nearly _done with the repairs to the Ambition, just a few-"

"Nearly done. I see. When can I expect the other 49 percent repaired?"

Sturgeon gazed around frantically for support.

Lacus chose this moment to intercede, her voice a stream: "Pardon me, Hibiki-san, but there's no need to be so cruel to our crew. These men work their hearts out for you."

She met his eyes, a feat in itself. Her fear was as tangible as her conviction. He arched an eyebrow. "You speak as if that is something to be commended and not expected."

Cutting past her, he drew his glare on Sturgeon, merciless. "Replenish your energy if you must. But we are vulnerable to any assault without the Ambition."

The Chief Mechanic nodded, eyes serious. "Understood, Captain."

He strode away; felt, never saw, Lacus Clyne's gaze on his back.

---

_One week prior _

_They called it the Ashitsuki – the "Legged Ship." Earth Alliance forces, OMNI-Enforcer designated Archangel-class battleship, working prototype "white-base" and theoretical staging point for G-Unit launch. _

_Aristotle was good. But even its unbounded quantum mind did not predict the _Archangel_'s extraordinary escape from Artemis, fleeing a knife in the back. _

_From the crumpling umbrella of Artemis, the Archangel limped away, laminated armor pocked with scorch marks. Staggering alongside it, a single defender, crippled, battered. A challenger, nigh-invisible, stared it down. _

GAT-X207 Blitz.

_Raining destruction on the Archangel, it was a mirage, flowing easily past the Strike's feeble attempts at retaliation. _

_Furiously, Strike continued its useless fire, punching off shot after shot at its unseen tormentor. Green rays etched themselves into Kira's vision, soared into the void, struck nothing. Blitz, the faintest trace of an outline, leapt behind Strike, arm raised for the finishing blow - and back open to Kira's assault._

_Ambition blew across the darkness, stolen beam-sabers flaring into existence. The Strike turned laggardly, dumbstruck by its second deliverance at the hands of the coal-black shadow. _

_The Blitz whirled away to evade the attack, too slow. An arc of cauterizing light sliced through its arm, baring circuitry beneath its armor of light. It leveled its shield at him, drew a rifle. Behind, Artemis imploded upon itself, a red-blue nova that sent simmering waves of heat and force into an eternal night. He choked, battered by energy like a cushioned wall. A corona of light blazed, outlining the Blitz, whose phase-shift armor nullified the impact of the blow. He cursed, straining to regain control. _

_His adversary fired, bolts tearing through the vacuum. Grinding his teeth together, he whipped his shoulder upwards. A line of energy connected with the refracting crystal on his shoulder – and bounced away, deflected. _

_He could almost hear the widening of the enemy pilot's eyes. Exploiting the pause of hesitation – an amateur's mistake – he slipped into his opponent's guard, eviscerated him. Cables and electro-boards hissed as they spilled out of the Gundam's frame like entrails. Blitz brought its shield about, slamming him on the head. He managed a futile, clumsy swipe before he was batted aside. A hook fired from the Trikeros shield, embedded itself into his shoulder crystal. He cursed as he was swung back into the Blitz's firing range, with his mobility hampered. Flipping his wrist around, he slashed in a blinding circle, burned through the grappler's string. _

_He failed to catch the beams ripping towards him, faster than reflex. On jittery luck alone he parried three, deflected another with his knee crystal – but one got through, boring neatly though his elbow joint. He winced as his left forearm flew into space, aimlessly flipping its saber. _

_As he charged towards the enemy once again, a fusillade of high-powered kinetic penetrators slammed into the remnants of his arm, tearing it out of its socket, stealing his momentum. He was instants from annihilation as more beams zipped through the emptiness, scorching the rim of his chest armor. _

_Enough. In an eyeblink he was upon the Blitz, saber working like a madman. His opponent defended valiantly, the Trikeros flashing up to meet his every move. But in close range the battle was his. With an elegant feint, a sweeping parry, and a final, horizontal slash, the Blitz's cockpit was neatly severed in two. A cooling forge-red scar burned across its chest, pilot's lifeblood dissolving into the void. _

_Two. _

_---_

"Halberton's contacted us. We're only a few days away."

Murrue lifted her head out of her arms. "Really?" She yawned, gently patting the side of her face. "That's good news."

He leaned against the wall, cup steaming. "Is it? I hope so."

"What do you mean?" Murrue was not looking for someone to rain on her parade – or, for that matter, her sleep.

"We've lost four out of five of the mobile suits and have proven that Naturals just can't pilot them. The OS is way too complicated for me to handle – I'm better off in a mobile armor. Halberton's not going to be happy that this project failed – and he's going to be less happy when he sees ZAFT use our own weapons against us."

She drowned herself in her arms again, moaning. "Why do you subject me to this?"

Footsteps crunched against the carpet as Mwu made his way behind her. She felt a tentative hand on her back. "Sorry, Captain. But hey, look on the bright side – Halberton likes you; you're probably not up for crucification."

She turned a bleary eye on him. "And you are?" Her voice, muffled by the sleeves of her coat, sounded even more tired than she felt – was that possible?

He raised his hands into the air. "Well, my position as an elite, irreplaceable ace may help me there. But I am technically the highest-ranking officer on this ship, and it was my responsibility to protect the Archangel. I haven't exactly been doing the greatest job."

Her eyebrows – well, eyebrow, he wasn't about the other since it was buried in her sleeve – shot up. "_You, _admit to having responsibilities? That's a first, Mwu, I'm proud."

He flexed, brandishing a grin. "With me, all impossibles are possible."

"Ok, go make some _good _coffee."

There was silence in the room.

---

"Why do you take that treatment from him?" Eyes concerned, Lacus sat with the crew, inwardly smiling at their antics. Even the females of the _Corsair _weren't very genteel, obviously unfamiliar with using forks _and _knives to plow through their food.

From the opposite side of the table, Norman spoke up, his first words mangled by mashed potatoes in his mouth: "Hwu ish a gud man," he swallowed, Adam's Apple bobbing up and down, "and he gets things done."

Reeve, a spindly, angular man with close-cropped rusty hair, nodded at her side. "The Captain is efficient. He has pioneered a way of life which was untenable for three hundred years, and maintained high standards for all of us. Flawed, imperfect Coordinators like us would be outcasts in PLANT. Here, our abilities are celebrated. We rival major design bureaus in craftsmanship, innovation, and speed."

Lacus stuffed a ball of potato into her mouth, chewing slowly. Absently patting Haro, she turned to her right. "Sturgeon-san, if your team is so skilled, Hibiki-san should respect your talent, not reprimand your hard work!"

Joseph snorted. "Captain's a hard man to work with, I'll grant you that. But we wouldn't be as good as we are without him. The kid's a genius – he single-handedly designed the Ambition, which outputs greater thrust at lower energy costs than…"

Lacus listened attentively, though she didn't quite understand the advanced astrophysics Sturgeon discussed. Her thoughts were directed in a different direction – namely, how Kira Hibiki, the Scourge of PLANT, kept his crew in such high spirits, when he himself was inflexible to the point of cruelty. Something Reeve had said had bothered her…

Sturgeon had stopped speaking, was looking expectantly at her. She let Haro go, cocked her head. "Reeve-san, what did you mean by 'flawed' Coordinators?"

Norman grimaced, eyes shifting to the side. "You know how, during the gene-selection process, com-pli-cations can occur?"

Frowning, she gave a small nod.

"Well, you see, Miss Lacus…something went wrong with our modifications. Some diseases which Coordinators are immune to – we end up getting. Some things which Coordinators are good at – we aren't. Me, for example, I'm dys-lex-ic."

He turned his watery gaze to her. "Pardon me, Miss Lacus, but people like Counciler Zala…we're worse than Naturals to him. We're failed Coordinators, symbols of PLANT's weaknesses."

Joseph's expression was grim. "In PLANT, we're abhorred. No Coordinator wants to be reminded that human science isn't always perfect. When we try to have relationships, get moved up in work…" His face closed.

Sighing: "it's not pretty. The government's concerned enough as it is with the breeding problems, and we're slated never to be paired with 'good' Coordinators, for fear that our imperfections turn out to be hereditary."

She frowned. "This is terrible. If my father knew, he would never let something like that happen."

Reeve shrugged. "It's the smart thing to do – weed out those who can't fit it. Usually our parents got too ambitious – focused too much on some traits and ignored others. Overspecialization breeds weakness. Besides, your father's got enough on his mind to worry about us."

Sturgeon finished his food. "There's your answer, I guess. We follow the Captain because no one else looks out for us." He sat up. "Well, back to work. Captain'll throw a hissy fit if we don't get the Ambition fixed up _sharp_."

She placed a hand on her lip. "Oh! Gomen, I didn't intend to keep you…"

He waved dismissively. "Nah, we haven't been chatting enough for him to explode. Besides, it was our pleasure, Miss Clyne."

The other engineers voiced their assent, many boasting of their music collections. She received them graciously, then called Haro back and decided to wander the ship – no sense staying cooped up in her room. Before Joseph and his men left, she rushed over to them for a final question:

"Kira-san. Is he also …"

"Flawed?" The blonde Hessian's eyes were merry. "We wish."

* * *

A/N: Confused? There are some questions I will answer in reply to reviews, but don't worry, next chapter will have some answers for you guys. In the meantime, please leave a review! Over two hundred hits and not a single review is - well, disappointing, to say the least. 


	3. Limbo

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Seed.

Rihaku here. This will be a revealing chapter. Pleas remember to review - it seems less than one percent of all viewers review, which is really depressing. On a side note, this chapter includes some pretty heavy violence - skip the second italicized part if you don't want to see it. _  
_

* * *

_"Great grief seized on my heart when this I heard,  
Because some people of much worthiness   
I knew, who in that Limbo were suspended.__"_

_-Dante Alighiri, The Divine Comedy - Inferno, Canto IV.  
_

* * *

_Do you know who I am? _

**We do. You are Hibiki Kira, son of Hibiki Ulen and Hibiki Via. **

_I am the Ultimate Coordinator. _

**That too. **

_I am a weapon. _

**Debatable. **

_No. That was the purpose for which I was created. I am a weapon. _

**Why are you doing this? **

_Because when I am gone, only you will remain. I wish to preserve a legacy of myself. For those of us who are close to human, it is a natural instinct. _

**So you will…? **

_When I was four, my mother was slaughtered by ZAFT soldiers – soldiers under the employ of my father. She was taken out, stunned, like a cow, forced against a wall, blindfolded. There was a crack, a skull splitting, and blood in a fountain, leaking in tributaries down the floor. It stained my hands, smelled like iron and fear. _

_Slaughtered. Like meat. I hear she had my eyes. _

**Is this really necessary? **

_I can remember this because I was made to remember. I do not forget. I cannot. Every second of my life – static, like your hard drive. I was made to the image of perfection which my father sought: a human unbound by the fetters of circumstance, morality, mortality. My skeleton is harder than carbon steel. I can break though a one-meter-thick concrete wall with my fingers, my skull. _

_My adrenal glands are 400 more efficient than a cheetah's. I have an intelligence quotient of three hundred and eighty-seven. _

**Most humans would kill for that. **

_When I was five, my father was killed. Slain by his ambition. ZAFT was young, untried. They feared the Naturals. They needed a champion, an assassin. Nuclear attack was a possibility, even in those times. _

_I remember. They feared Blue Cosmos. They needed a weapon unexpected enough, disavowable enough, unstoppable enough to excise the Azrael family. To that end, my father was betrayed. I was commandeered – the vessel of their destruction. _

**This is nothing I don't know. **

_Silence. I need this in my own words. _

_Even an Ultimate Coordinator can be improved upon. Conditioning, they called it. Under hypnosis they taught me to kill. Under anesthesia they killed the remnant of my humanity. Ninety-six percent of my vitals are covered with organ armor. My skull is three times thicker than the human norm. _

**Really? That's a surprise. **

_Did you know that the minimum human response time, the most rapid nerve action in response to visual stimulus, consumes an entire .16 of a second? This is not fast enough to dodge a bullet. In this respect, I cannot be said to be human. _

_Their discipline was vicious. They believed since I was young, I could not rebel. _

_They failed to understand the term, Ultimate Coordinator. _

_I rebelled. At five years and ten months of age, I stole my warden's pistol, crushed his ribcage, sealed off the research colony, and murdered everyone within. There was no mortality involved; no purpose, no ethics. I wanted to survive. They needed me to die._

_I figured out how to use the plastic explosives they had planned to give me, obliterated the facility. I remember the fire, flecks of ash roaring dead-white from the blaze, heat a wave which washed over me. The girders melted; the building imploded upon itself. A graveyard of sin. Bones liquid, fused with steel. Blood like rain upon my brow. _

_I was terrified. Alone. _

_The fools at Aprilus will tell you that PLANT tolerates no poverty. They will tell you of civil reconstruction blueprints, distribution orders, government employment and welfare protocols. They will also tell you that the fire and subsequent annihilation of ZAFT's Progenitor Bureau was a freak accident, the result of a faulty experiment. _

_In both cases, they aren't totally lying._

_The weakness of the state is that it is formed of humans who believe they have the authority to arbitrate other humans. That they can take one such as me, who could have been human, and reduce me to less. That they can take the poor, the suffering, the enemy – and reduce them to numbers. _

**Less? **

_Shut up. You know it is true. _

**I'm sure all three hundred and eighty seven points of your IQ are in concordance. **

_Do you know what it is to possess…nothing? You wouldn't. To have nothing would is to be nothing, for you. _

_That was not an option for me. The blood on my hands, I vowed, would not be pointless. Amusing, for a five-year-old. Idiocy, for an Ultimate Coordinator. All blood outside of a body has lost its point. _

_I joined an urchin gang. We stole from all and gave to ourselves. The police hunted us with stun-rays, containment fields – nonlethal weapons. An imbecile's armament. _

_Within a week I had taken command of one-half of the impoverished orphans living on Junius 4. We stole mainly food, easy because our hunters did not have the heart to pursue us. If any did, I killed them. _

**Sorry to say this, Kira, but you're a freak. **

_Do not state the obvious. _

---

Lacus Clyne stared at the door – one of two that she was not allowed in. She could hear typing within, a tap-tap rain so fast it was a blur even to her trained ear. Biting her lip, she tapped her foot against the floor, absorbing the rhythm, leaned against the wall. Haro was muted, flapped aimlessly.

The captain's quarters were cloistered, separated by a circular hallway from the rest of the rooms. They didn't appear to be very large – perhaps one and a half times the size of her own Spartan lodgings – but they exuded a dreadful aura, like permafrost on the soul. She still couldn't understand how the men and women who ran this ship, good people to a fault, would kowtow under this, this – she frowned – _glacial _tyrant. She understood even less how they could follow him, doing what the _Corsair _did.

Mild-mannered Norman, the language-impaired, muscle-bound Fighting Coordinator actually kill a man? She just couldn't see it. These people didn't seem to condone Kira's brand of merciless death, let alone execute it.

It had been a long day. Though she had had fruitful conversations with everyone aboard the ship – well, everyone except _one_ - she still had absolutely no idea what the Captain intended with her.

She had been unable to resist signing over sixty autographs for the tech crew alone, which numbered only thirty-four members. To these Coordinators, sloughed off by society, she was royalty.

It was only the Captain's constant presence, in the words that they gave and tasks that they did, that reminded her she was a captive.

She was convinced that the people who worked under the Scourge were every bit as human as the stories said they weren't.

Mothers and fathers around PLANT used the Scourge as a sort of bogeyman, frightening their children into compliance. If they knew the true Scourge, they wouldn't dare.

Hibiki Kira was far more terrifying in person than any rumors suggested. She had no idea that he was her age – only sixteen? Five years ago he had instigated a reign of terror on PLANT – Earth shipping lanes and ZAFT installations. If the crew members weren't lying – she could usually tell when people were – then he had become Captain of this ship at the age of eleven.

Somehow, this terrified her even more. But Lacus Clyne was not raised to give in to fear. And, perhaps, if she gained an understanding of the Captain, she could barter a peace between PLANT and him?

Her thoughts were quelled by the hissing of the door behind her. Involuntarily, she shivered –from the cloud of arctic air which exited the room, and from the equally chilling glare of the Captain as he stepped out.

He was severe in his politeness: "Do you need something?"

Snapped from her reverie, she turned to him. Conjuring her composure, she curtsied. "I'm sorry that we haven't met formally, Captain. My name is Lacus Clyne." She proffered a hand to him, forced a smile.

He looked puzzled. "Is it common among your kind to 'formally introduce' themselves to their captors?"

Still holding out the hand: "Well, your crew thought it would be a good idea. They were very friendly, not 'incompetent' at all."

He shrugged, grasped her hand lightly. "Hibiki Kira. If that is all-"

Her flesh was soft, pliant, warm. He could feel the pulse of her heart through the vein on her wrist, the smoothness of her nails, which dug ever-so-slightly into the crook of his thumb, the suppleness of her fingers, so small-

_What the hell are you doing? _

He diverted blood flow from his face, extinguishing a blush. "-I'll be going now." Rapidly he let go, maneuvered past her, walked into the hall-

She called out after him, forlorn. "Captain, I still had questions. I know this is strange, but-"

He whirled around, willing his expression to calmness. "What?"

Slightly more used to his manner, she pressed: "Why are you keeping me here? Where are we going? Do you intend to trade me for something?"

He was abrupt. "Because we haven't gotten to port yet, I can't tell you, and maybe."

Not wishing to partake any longer of the question-and-answer session, Kira fled around a corner, broke into a silent jog.

---

_The man sneered down at him, pointed to the far wall. "Ok, freak. I'm gonna 'test the effectiveness' of your new joints." _

_Kira swayed on his feet, mind-numbing restrainment drugs still potent in his bloodstream. The world was a blur of greens melting into grays melting into blues. He staggered, hands on the wall, feet shuffling on twenty-kilogram steel weights. _

_His cell was expansive, slattered with anemic green organic debris and crumpled food cartons. The walls were filth, the floor a sewer. Wardens wore gasmasks to retrieve him. _

_They claimed exposure to the various superbreeds of illness rendered his immune system stronger. He had concluded that it was one of the only effective ways to cripple him beyond resistance – already he had developed a resistance to their drugs. _

_The guard roared, loosed a warning shot at his knees. Whimpering, he dodged, the bullet cracking against the wall with a shower of sparks. Shaking off the effects of the drug, he fingered the lonesome hairpin he had found in one of the lab assistant's coats. Now, it was nestled in the warmth of his palm, covered under his tattered gray shift. Another shot, closer, and he winced, strode to the target dummy on the wall._

_Clear in the warden's sights. And the warden, clear in his. As the depraved keeper raised his pistol, aiming for Kira's elbow, Kira span, threw himself to the floor and the pin, straight towards his captor's eye. It zipped along the air with a whine, punctured neatly the vulnerable organ and drilled straight into the sentry's brain. An instant later it was tearing out of his skull, trailing broken bone matter, impaling a shred of pinkish tissue as it bored half an inch into the wall. _

_Calling up his reserves, Kira shattered his leg restraints, rushed the flailing guard, and loosed a devastating heel-drop to the man's abdomen. _

_The man screamed as his bones broke into fragments, rupturing organs, heart. Within moments Kira had secured gun, cardkeys. He was free. They were dead. _

_He raced along the hall, knowing that his time was short. Luckily he had flash-memorized a map of the institution during a radiation test. Two scientists rounded a corner, died to a flashing boom, their blood arcing to splatter on the walls. Before they had dropped, he was past them, into the next hall. The lights above cut, darkness like a curtain in the hall. _

_Special-Ops in riot gear dropped like spiders from the ceiling, sniped from the shadows. He darted sideways up the wall, felled three, and, spinning through the air, grabbed their guns. They were unused to shooting targets one-fourth their size and four-thirds their speed. Sheltered behind a shield, he calculated likely sniper covens, saturated them with automatic fire. _

_The gunshots ripping into the shield quieted, stopped. He picked up an undamaged shield, rammed three scientists turning the corner. The middle one howled as his shin snapped; the others scattered before his charge. Baring bloody teeth, he executed them, brass tinkling to the time of his footsteps, sizzling against the tile. _

_He whipped around another corner, his shoulders sore from supporting the kickback of the rifles. They hadn't even finished one-half of their intended implants, but he was more than lethal. _

_They gaped at him like carp out of water. He pressed the triggers. _

_Papers flew in storm; desks, riddled with holes, smoked silently, crumpled as their supports gave out. Security guards, scientists, administrators, lawyers – all put to the scythe. Men vomited red, gagged out their organs as they plucked glass shards from their faces. Blood was a sanguine mist in the air. He dropped the empty guns, ran to the armory. _

_You reaped what you sowed. And he was the whirlwind. _

---

Kira swerved to the side, narrowly avoided collision with Norman's burly arm – the guy didn't need more damage to his frame, now that he was sick. The Caucasian's beady blue eyes tracked him, smiling.

"Whoa, Captain, what are you running from?"

He snapped with impatience. "Not _from_, Norman, _to_. Sturgeon's scheduled to have finished the Ambition. And didn't I tell you to keep Lacus Clyne away from my quarters?"

The scar-splotched man nodded knowingly. "Ah, ok. Thanks for the answer, Captain."

"You wit transfixes me." Kira, saturnine, stomped away, his mood black.

---

Athrun sighed, replayed the battle tapes he had recovered from _Vesalius_' long-range sensors. The mobile suits battling on-screen were off-color, blurry, and utterly unmistakable.

Four suits moved in perfect formation, descending towards a white-framed ship. Halfway down, they were intercepted. The culprit? A malevolent shadow with crystal tips on wrists, shoulders, joints.

They had all heard of it before – A235-_Ambition_, the Scourge of PLANT. A mobile suit whose capabilities were utterly unknown, as no records survived of its engagements.

What a glorious start to their careers! Cocksure, they had surrounded him, high on adrenaline and absolutely certain that they would bag the Archangel along with this demon.

Reports of his prowess were, unfortunately, not at all exaggerated. He had been meticulous, unrelenting, and utterly merciless, playing on the unfamiliarity of their new suits to scatter them, forcing them into melee confrontation – where, apparently, he excelled. By closing with Aegis, the most prominent melee threat, he had effectively negated their numerical superiority – Dearka and Yzak weren't comfortable enough in their new mobile suits to fire and risk hitting an ally.

He had consistently outfought Athrun hand-to-hand, even when contending with phase-shift, and had adjusted his strategies with terrifying speed. Only Le Creusete had impressed the redcoats more.

When faced with a lack of offensive actions, he had struck the Aegis' cockpit with thruster-enhanced force, blacking Athrun out. Ripping Athrun's beam sabers straight off his forearms, Ambition had proceeded to destroy Buster – and later, Blitz.

Dearka. Nicole. He forced back tears.

Athrun wasn't sure if he hated more than feared this pilot. The Scourge, far from being a distant nightmare, had, for the Le Creusete team, become a very real one. He sighed, clicked the tele-screen on. Excessive tension, Creusete told them, caused cramps, anxiety.

Mindless commercials flitted past, plastic-red and faded marigold. Click.

Children's programming. Click.

_The Adventures of Cheshire, Galahad, and Roland_. Click.

Two twee- Click.

---

Perhaps he should just use his computer? Click.

Getting up would cause tension. Click.

The News. Click.

Click.

The News. PLANT-TV. His nightmare for the past twenty-four hours.

"'_Blackbox' recorders found hours ago indicate the chilling truth – the Silverwind was destroyed near the last known flight path of rogue vessel _Corsair_, captained by the notorious Scourge of PLANT, Hibiki Kira. Many viewers believed that the Scourge is a fictitious character – for all of ZAFT, this served as a terrible warning call. Supreme Chancellor Clyne has called for_Click.

His eyes narrowed to emerald slits. Hibiki Kira would die, even if Athrun had to kill himself to do it.

--

Lacus stared at her hand. _So cold…_

Kira – Hibiki-san's handshake had been brutal. She as well have plunged her hand into an icebox, for all the good it did her. When they had touched, she had seen his eyes like the northern lights, and for a slip of a moment had believed that she could understand him. That was the closest they had ever been - she had never felt so _exposed_. It was like drowning in ice, edges cold-sharp against the brush of her skin, naked.

So here she was, fifteen minutes later, still clutching her hand with her other palm, hair falling down to kiss her shoulders. Breath, heavy. Haro was silent save for the occasional whine, hopping about, concerned for its mistress. Her limbs felt leaden, locked. Her vision was heavy. She closed her eyes, tried to move. Couldn't. Though of Athrun, tried to move. Heavier. Guilt blossomed in her bosom: a ravishing, strangling flower.

Because for all their hardness, his eyes were beautiful. Beautiful enough to stop her breath – to drown her.

* * *

Having fun? I am.

Next Chapter: Athrun readies to kill Kira. Lacus retreats to her room. Kira manages to warm up his hands.

Please remember to review! I wouldn't be able to write this fast without support and inspiration from the community. Thanks to Princess Ashes, 118-sethshadow, and kaitou angel for their reviews.


	4. Canto I

Hey, me again. Happy Election Day! (for those of you in the US)

* * *

_"I hope you guys don't think _I_ came up with that moronic name, Scourge of Plant." _

-_Kira __Hibiki _

* * *

"Twenty-four hours to interception." Rau Le Creusete leaned against the wall, regarded Athrun with a curling plaster smile.

From above, the machinery creaked, shuddered. Bolts of energy whipped past, scorching his flanks. Then – the dull, listless humming of the beam saber.

"You won't beat him on the simulation, Athrun."

He gestured magnanimously to Aegis, which lay thirty meters away on the hanger floor. "Fine-tune it. Next time, I'll launch with you. We'll see if the _Vesalius _can do well enough without us."

Athrun Zala clambered down from the cockpit simulation, wiped sweat off his brow. His hands were trembling. He swayed, caught a railing, dizzy from exertion.

Creusete shook his head, a sign of disapproval. "If you exhaust yourself now, you'll have even less chance of defeating him later. The simulation is fine for competing with Naturals, even other redcoats. But you're dealing with another league of enemy here."

Athrun nodded, limped along the railing to his room. Despite what Creusete had said, he was ready. He had derived the Scourge's battle patterns from the videos, fed them into the simulator. And, after three days of excruciating practice, he had won.

---

"Pink-chan, what do you think of Hibiki-san?"

"Haro…Haro?" The pastel orb lolled around on the ground, ears flaring.

"Why the heck?"

She stifled a giggle. "Just wondering, Pink-chan. You don't have to let it bother you. Here!" Patting her lap, she held her palms open to receive it. With a whine, it jumped into her lap, bouncing about to face her.

She patted it, gently tossed her hair. "Yes, I don't know either."

She reclined in her chair, almost used to the cold of her room. The back was soft - the crew had brought her a new one, stolen from somewhere. She had decided since it was so comfortable, she didn't really need to know...

There was a thudding at the door, stone-on-stone.

Her eyes opened. "Is that Norman?" Setting down the hibernating Haro, she pushed the door open. As expected, the bulky warrior was standing outside, his eyes teasing.

"It's lunchtime, Miss Lacus. Didn't you say you were only going to be in your room fifteen minutes?"

She cocked her head. "I must have drifted off…Well, ok, let's go!"

He chuckled. "Don't see why you're so spirited about the food here – we really need to do another supply run.

---

_We run down the gradient, panting, our tongues hanging dry-loose in the recycled air like dogs. He turns to me, hard blond hair submerged in shadow. "We really did it this time, huh, Kira?" Around us: a cluster of children in this cloister, breathing hard through barred light. Eyes: magenta, orange, blue and speckled-green, trusting. I stand up, hearing with my bat's ears the hollow boom of pursuit. I cannot take them much farther. The hunters refuse to stop. _

_I thrust the bag, crinkled transparent plastic filled with bread and bread-crumbs, at them, turn to the slowly sloping incline of the shaft. "You guys go as far as you can. I'll…make them stop chasing us." _

_Too young to distrust, they retreat. Six years of age and six hundred forty-four men dead by my hand, I watch them, helping each other along – the refuse of PLANT, running along a disposal shaft. I know it will not be long before they are caught, if I do not hurry. They know our tricks now, since I sprung the cat. _

_The fans turn languidly, shuttering light with their _wump-wump _blades. I see the shadow of the fan disappear, cloaked by the outline of a man. He carries a stun-rifle, earjack mounted to the right of his chin. I can tell this, from the shadow, because I am not human. __I will not be able to save these men, my pursuers. _

_My hand goes down, clutching the scalpel strapped to my dusty cargo-pants (stolen from the Boulevard at 5th Street, ten days ago and now shredded to the knee). _

_They move, arrogant in their height, light from the stun-tip swooping like some dread falcon along the corrugated steel of the shaft. Static crackles through their headsets, barked orders. The governor has cracked down on crime – since we are never seen, they do not know us as children. But with food in hand, my comrades are too naïve to bluff themselves out of capture. I will have to be fast. _

_These predators are new. Not nearly as terrified as they should be. I drop from the ceiling, slink to the side. As the vanguard passes an open duct I lunge, blood calm-still, scalpel a sliver of light at his throat, and then he chokes, blood where breath should be, and topples with a muted groan. I dart back into the darkness, drag his heavy rifle behind me. _

_The rest are still, paralyzed by the sudden death. Before they recover I burst around the hard steel corner, twitch off three shots. The men at the rear collapse, muscles working in counter-spasms as their nerves contract, eyes rolled up in sockets. A hunter shouts, his voice clanging down the shaft. I frown, silence him with a scalpel through his throat. He manages to clutch at it, gagging, falls. I break into the open, leap and bash one with my stolen rifle, mounting his shoulder as a springboard as he drops, skull cracked. I explode towards the mercenaries, stun-bolts whizzing past in useless array as I advance upon one, rip his knife from the leg holster, eviscerate him in upward lunge. He falls, organs glistening. The fan shudders, _wump-wumps.

_The remainder attempt to pull out, tripping over the now-unconscious bodies of their rearguard. I pounce. My knife flashes dull-blue, leaks with red, plunges through skin. In four seconds they are dead. I rip the night-vision glasses from one, rush down the hall, the world now bright green, like crushed grass. _

_I abandon subtlety, pound down the slanting way at thirty-five kilometers an hour. To my sides I can hear boot-tromps, soft enough to be an attempt at stealth. I wonder how much longer my bloodied hands can preserve the innocence of the pack. I am already six, and they have not seen me kill. If I desert them now, they never will. Even mercenaries are human. They will not slaughter hapless children. _

_Perhaps, foster families? It would not be too much to ask, of a supposedly benign government. _

_But it would be too much to expect. I redouble my efforts, see the shadowy doppelgangers as they are meters from my crew, discussing amongst themselves what to do with the children. My eyes widen. They have found out. Now I must remove them, before the pack notices. I draw the dagger, fling it into the crux of one's spine. Before he cries out I am upon then. My wrist flies out, punches through skull as my other hand tears one of their knives free. They begin to respond. I feed adrenaline to my veins. The world slows, shifts. I leap-skip off the one I just killed, turn in an arc, slashing their jugulars. Before they can gurgle I plant hands, knife, sneakered feet onto their mouths. _

_I am transfixed in that position five minutes, wait for them to die. Finally blood trickles from between their teeth to replace breath and I sigh, slumping off, swiping their daggers, wiping my hand on their nylon-laminate slicksuits. The pack has finished its meal, the bag discarded at the shaft's intersect. I see a loaf, left presumably for me. I loose my breath. _

_They know the way out. _

---

"So it's done?"

Sturgeon mopped his brow, cheeks, neck, flung the towel to its hanger. "Yup." He sounded exhausted, self-satisfied.

Kira nodded, pleased. "And almost on time, too." He could not resist.

Joseph, too tired to retort, clapped him on the back. "Have fun. Before you go, though, mind telling someone other than Aristotle what exactly is going on? This is the first time you've kept a hostage more than a day."

Striding up to the Ambition, he flicked his eyes to meet Joseph's. "Yes, actually, I do mind. Don't worry about it. If everything goes to plan none of us will have to work for the rest of our natural lives."

The haggard blonde raised a hand in salute. "Sounds good."

Kira's eyes trailed the Chief Mechanic as he shooed off the rest of the crew. _Still no phase-shift, no Mirage Colloid. I will have to perform better than normally, but that shouldn't be a problem. _

Leaping over the pit-wall, he landed in the repair site, Ambition already detached from stabilizing pylons. Aristotle would manage its slow transfer to the linear catapult. He turned to a sink, set the water to scalding. Rubbing his hands furiously, he glared at the water. It frothed, hissed as it touched his skin, boiled hot enough to raise blisters on normal humans. Slowly, some of the cold leeched out of his bones. He turned it off, shook his hands, wiped them on a paper towel. From their hiding point it would be one hour until the projected triple-point. Aristotle and he would have much to discuss, in the cockpit.

He walked to the loading elevator, noted the new holders Sturgeon had installed for the beam-sabers. Ambition was a titan, blue-black like the midnight sky over oceans he had never seen.

---

Kira installed himself into the cockpit, helm sealed with a pressurized hiss.

"What have we got?"

**Refractors have all been regenerated. As you've probably noticed, we inserted your new beam sabers into the ensemble. CIWS have been repaired and the rifle is operational. The new arm should function exactly like the old one – I've already input your specifications. **

"Good. Time to intercept?"

**An hour fifteen minutes. We'll arrive five minutes after the confrontation has began, according to my initial projections. You seem to be within functional range, though heartbeat is slightly accelerated. **

"Ignore it. What can we expect in terms of opposition?"

**The Aegis and the Duel. They shouldn't be a problem. If the Archangel decides to fire on us – and it hasn't yet – we may need to pull out. **

"Hm. Think we should run a draw-and-bait?"

**What would you do with another salvaged mobile suit? **

"True. We'll need to retro-fit the Ambition, ensure its power levels are capable of sustaining phase-shift. At the very least, destruction of the suits would lead to a decrease in the escalation effect of this war. We don't need more people dying uselessly."

**And since when were you an altruist? **

"I'm not. Wars are bad for trade. They disrupt the shipping lanes, which means we have to resort to suit-scrapping for income."

**Still, once you get the funds…**

"Yes. Finding her was a windfall for us. The crew will be able to make lives for themselves, too."

**If everything goes to plan. **

"Have I ever failed?"

---

Lacus chatted happily with the crew, her food nearly finished. The Commons were crowded, bustling, filled with the tinkering of forks, the crash of plates, laughter.

"Well, I'm glad for you!"

Sturgeon laughed merrily. "And then he tells me 'you'll never have to work again!' Imagine that! From him!"

Reeve peered sideways at the German, lighting a grin. "Is that so? How is that different from your everyday life, then?"

"What? I'll have you know that dealing with the Captain is dangerous business!"

"So is repairing mobile suits – don't see you doing much of that, though. And no, rubbing oil and grime into your hair and clothes doesn't count."

"It's – it's my prerogative to delegate my duties!"

"Hey, Miss Clyne," Reeve nudged Lacus conspiratorially. "You know what Sturgeon's genetic flaw is?"

"Should we talk about-"

"Laziness! He's descended from Rip Van Winkle, you know, the guy who slept for twenty years!"

Joseph wasn't amused. "And Reeve's flaw is the lack of any ability to make good jokes."

"Oh, come on, it was funny! Wasn't it, Miss Lacus?"

"Well…" Lacus placed a finger on her lip.

"There's no need to stain your conscience lying to him, Miss Lacus," Norman boomed from across the table. "He knows Joe wasn't kidding."

Reeve sputtered, torn between indignation and humiliation. Before he could voice a counterattack, the room flared red. The Captain's tones emerged rapid-fire from ceiling speakers.

"Attention _Corsair_. We are fifteen minutes from engagement. All hands, battle stations." The voice clicked off, to be replaced by the neutral clip of the ship's AI.

"**The Captain is launching. ****Second Mate Pressman will take command of the ship. Reeve Sandwise, to the monitoring bank. Joseph Sturgeon, supervise liftoff."**

Sturgeon sat up, cracked his knuckles. "Well, I'm off."

Lacus nodded a farewell, turned back to Haro when-

"**Oh, before we forget. Lacus Clyne, to the Ambition. We repeat. Lacus Clyne, to the Ambition."**

Ice ran in her veins.

Norman looked at her pleadingly. "You won't give us a bother, will you, Miss Clyne?"

She stood up, shielding Haro with her forearms. _Well, this had been what I expected. _Eyes downcast, resigned, she motioned for him to lead. "Let's go."

---

"How is that Allster girl doing?"

Murrue finished her signature, looked up. "Oh, Flay? I don't know…she seems to have had a pretty bad time of it since…"

Mwu's eyes were fixed to the floor. "Yeah."

Putting her pen down, she hoisted herself off the desk, stretched. "Mmhm…It's been a while since I've been up. I could use a walk."

A chevalier's grin, eyebrow arched. "Oh? Without coffee?"

"Why would you want to spoil it?"

He shrugged. "True. Alright. I'll escort you, Captain."

She whacked him on the shoulder. They turned, ghosting along the hall.

"What will you do when we meet Halberton?"

Sighing, she turned, facing him as they drifted. "Relinquish command of the ship, get my bed back? Now I know why they make Captain's cabins so big – it's to compensate for never using them."

"I'll gladly take them."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Oh! Uh, uh, I didn't mean in _that _sense, if that was what you were thinking. I – just – wait, that's not good either…nevermind!"

They were saved from awkwardness by the wailing of klaxons. Red-gray light flashed, diffused through the ship. Murrue started, flew bridgewards. He turned, sprinted to the hangers.

"Ugh. I've never been so glad to have been saved by the bell."

---

"What is it?" She whirled in, took a seat. Natarle snapped off a precise salute, began:

"Three minutes ago we detected ZAFT forces in the immediate vicinity of the Archangel. Preliminary scans indicate one _Nazca-_class cruiser. Mobile suits, armaments: currently unknown."

Murrue gritted her teeth. They had been so close! "How much farther are we to contact with the fleet?"

"An hour, m'am. We can't possibly make it in time. Our best bet now is to engage."

"How are the repairs on our ship?" From the right, a technician, fingers working furiously on the input-bank, turned.

"55 percent for the Gottfrieds, Lohengrins still operational. Our ammunition for CIWS is at 80 percent, but we're almost out of Helldart, Corinthos, and Valiant ammunition."

She grimaced. "Not that impact weapons have had much effect on their phase-shift…"

Placing her hands on the post, she addressed the crew. "What do you believe would be the best course of action?"

Natarle shot up. "Captain, we need to wipe out that _Nazca­_-class, at all costs. Without a nearby resupply base, the mobile suits would be forced to surrender or risk losing life-support."

"That's assuming that they won't just minimize their losses and suicide-run us." Mwu La Flaga had come in from the portal, his purple flightsuit on and helmet tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Anyway, I'm just coming in to say that I'll be launching in the Moebius Zero, if we decide to engage. I'm absolutely useless in the Strike."

Murrue reeled on him. "What? But you'll have no armor!"

He looked affronted. "Come on, Captain, have some faith. This is the Hawk of Endymion you're dealing with! I won't get hit!" He waved it off, floated out.

Tersely, back to the crew: "It looks like our best bet is to fire the Lohengrins at the Nazca-class as soon as we're in range. That should drive off any attacking mobile suits for a few minutes, and, if lucky, we can take out their base ship. In the likely event that that fails, we'll continue our assault on the Nazca-class with our Gottfrieds, with CIWS used only as a countermeasure. I think it's been shown that we can't compete with them in terms of mobile firepower."

Natarle below nodded. "That seems like a sound plan, Captain."

"Alright!" Murrue settled into her seat, restraining straps clicking in. "Issue Condition Red! Prepare for anti-mobile suit, anti-warship combat!"

---

**The second-person cockpit has been stored so that you will not be inconvenienced. **

"Good. Minutes to launch?"

**Seven. Long-range sensors are picking up heat signatures as we speak. Vessels detected: Earth Forces Archangel, ZAFT Nazca-class _Vesalius_, Earth Forces Moebius Zero wire-gunbarrel model. Mobile Suits detected: GAT-X303 Aegis, GAT-X102 Duel**. **She's coming now. **

Norman opened the cockpit, saluted him. Lacus, who looked as if she were concealing something terribly vulnerable, drifted in.

Aristotle piped in. **Don't be concerned, Miss Clyne. If you move to the back of the cockpit you'll see there is a second seat for you. Please strap in and we'll be on our way. **

As she placed a delicate hand on the seat top, maneuvering herself onto the chair, Kira spoke up, his head still facing front.

"We'll be ransoming you off to ZAFT shortly. Soon you'll be in comfortable conditions again."

Lacus furrowed her brow. Kira-san obviously had little experience being comforting or polite, and she was distressed that she was going off in a machine built for war. But – she shuddered – getting away from the Captain would be a good thing, right?

---

Athrun Zala stared into the abyss, firing the Aegis' rear-jets. Ahead, the Archangel was in a state of semi-repair, cruising swiftly towards the safe haven of the 8th Fleet. Grimacing, he pulled the beam sabers from his legs, blitzed towards it. Yzak, to his side, had opened fire on the ship, twisting in circles to avoid return fire.

Rau came on-screen, blurred. "_The Vesalius is launching its jammer shots now. We strongly suspect the _Archangel_ and_ Corsair _of some sort of cohesion – its saves have been too convenient. Remember that we won't be able to communicate either – just follow my briefing! I'll come to join you shortly." _

The screen blinked out. Athrun returned his attention to the Archangel, which was turning broadside to the _Vesalius_. Frowning, he surged in, unopposed, dragging his beam sabers in vicious arcs on the surface of the ship. Burn marks steamed dark-red as he roared, plunging the weapons into the laminated armor. Slowly, the welded ceramic began to yield, glowing molten hot as he slammed away at it.

Instants from victory, a line of slashing energy caught him in the back. He leapt off, exploded towards the shadow.

Right on time.

* * *

Please remember to review! I don't think I can keep up this pace with the number of reviews I'm getting - it's just hard to do three thousand words a day and have so little to show for it. Thanks to Princess Ashes, ascelon for their reviews.

Also, check out my forums on reviews and reviewing at Forums Gundam Seed Reviews: Reap what you sow.

Ja.


	5. The Machines: Ambition

A quick look at Kira's mobile suit. I thought this would be a helpful reference for the upcoming battle, since it may span several chapters. Sorry I couldn't have more for you guys today, I've been really busy. But you can expect another chapter soon, (I hope)!

**A-235 Ambition**

**Manufacturer: **_Corsair _Crew/Junk Guild

**User: **_Corsair_, The Scourge

**First Deployment: **1st January, C.E. 69

**Head Height: **17.53 meters

**Weight: **Max gross 51.5 metric tons

**Special Equipment: ARISTOTLE Complex Interface, "Palladium" Multi-Point Crystal Refractor Array, "Persephone" Routed Escape Module **

**Powerplant: **Ultracompact energy battery

**Armament: **60 mm "Poison Sting" CIWS x 2, "Abattoir" Longsword x 1 (lost, thrown at the GAT-X303 Aegis during combat), beam saber x 2 (stolen from GAT-X303 Aegis), 56 mm energy beam rifle x 1, shield x 1

**Pilot: **Kira Hibiki

A medium-sized, night-blue mobile suit, the Ambition was developed initially by the Junk Guild, and was delivered to the _Corsair _as means of repayment for Hibiki Kira's defense of the Junk Guild territories during their one-year partnership (C.E. 68-69). Though it is in nearly all capabilities inferior to the GAT-X series, the Ambition is not without its unique strengths: its thruster speed and acceleration are phenomenal, due to Kira's own modifications of the suit, and it houses a one-of-a-kind "Palladium" organic crystal array, capable of deflecting most beam shots away from the suit.

Prior to the development of phase-shift armor, the Ambition could also employ these crystals to slice through enemy forces, as the crystals themselves are extremely durable – capable of sustaining prolonged CIWS fire or minor missile impacts without significant damage. In addition, each crystal is a self-contained regenerating unit which can modify its shape when triggered by special currents the Ambition sends through conductor lines on its joints – allowing Kira to change the angle of deflection in order to strike enemies with their own beams. The crystals are not as effective against positron or large-scale cannons; while offering some protection, they would not provide a sufficient defense against such attacks. Typically, the highly concentrated energy output of a beam saber can melt through Palladium in one to two seconds. Crystals are mounted on the Ambition's shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips, knees, and ankle joints.

Ambition's success in the field is largely attributable to its ARISTOTLE AI-guidance system, not to be confused with an OS (Operating System). Integrating the quantum calculation ability of the supercomputer artificial intelligence Aristotle (origin unknown), it normalizes with a pilot's combat data, making minute adjustments that allow for extremely precise movements – nearly onto the scale of reproducing human movement in select situations. However, Aristotle's incredible complexity makes it very selective in those pilots it will partner with: interfacing with the AI requires tremendous levels of conceptual and spatial awareness, highly developed motor skills, physical and mental endurance, and sharp reflexes.

Aristotle is also capable of hacking into missile-guidance systems, banking computers, ship intelligences, and most Mobile Suit AIs, though it requires direct contact with an open port or jack to do so, thus greatly reducing the effectiveness of this ability.

Always pragmatic, Kira has included an escape module on the Ambition in the unlikely event that he should be defeated in combat.

Though it has sortied on numerous occasions and undergone extensive repairs and modifications, the utility, efficiency, and elegance of the Ambition's design has kept it competitive with the cutting edge of mobile suits. Prior to the Battle of Heliopolis in late January C.E. 71, over two years since its deployment, no combat data of the Ambition existed in OMNI Enforcer or ZAFT databanks, due to the unerring lethality of its encounters. Possibly due to the skill of its pilot, it remains one of the most feared mobile weapons in the Cosmic Era, though its true name is known to very few.

Please give me your thoughts on this MS's design! Remember, you can visit my forums at:

Forums Gundam Seed Reviews: Reap what you sow

Also, I'm considering doing a series of one-shots concerning a couple. If I do, which couple should I feature?

1. Kira x Lacus

2. Athrun x Cagalli

3. Dearka x Miriallia

4. Athrun x Meyrin

5. Other (please specify in review)


	6. Canto II

Hey guys! Rihaku again. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time - Blueflames, Ultimate Coordinator, soen, and Ashes! If you haven't reviewed yet, please do so! Remember: it may be feedback for you, but it's food for me.

"_War, what is it good for?" _

_-Norman Whitfield_

Lights danced across the battlefield, a kaleidoscopic death. He burst from his hiding place, beams seeking.

Aegis turned, a new burn-scar on its flank, and erupted from the Archangel's surface, sabers drawn. Kira clicked on the communications channel. Nothing. Then the blood-red monster was upon him, vicious in its speed, and he had to grit his teeth, spin to the side, draw his own blades, counterattack.

His assault glanced off the phase-shift, margins too slow to be fatal. His eyes widened. Aegis hadn't been near this fast the last time they fought. The crimson gundam ducked, rammed him to the boom of engines. Straining, he pulled up, smashed Aegis with a kick to the face, then moved out of saber range. Aegis corkscrewed after him, relentless.

The Ambition whined, circuits creaking as he threw it into a vertical ascension, pulling his foe away from the _Archangel_. Once the enemy was exposed, he snapped downwards like a mantis, beam sabers cutting through vacuum with killing velocity. Unperturbed, Aegis slashed upwards, caught the blows. Smiling, Kira swung Ambition down, their blades still locked.

As he moved, the sabers crackled, buzzed, and tore at each other, beam warring beam with shivering ferocity. Arcs of light spat at his vision, searing, and he pumped his thrusters, forcing Aegis back and down, pressing the suit into the void of open space.

Aegis' eyes blazed with fury as it redoubled its efforts, to no avail. Kira let go, releasing the beam-lock, counter-thrusters firing as Aegis made an abortive lunge, overextended by his hasty movements. Kira closed with the unguarded arms, saber flashing downwards for the kill-

And was halted by a knee to the cockpit. Behind, Lacus screamed as the mobile suit frame vibrated violently, jarred by impact. Furious, Kira intercepted Aegis' incoming blades, forced them away and broke off. Again, the red gundam pursued, sabers scything against each other, emitting an edged whine. Kira parried the first blow, only to find the second racing towards his leg. Ambition spun rapidly, avoiding the brunt of injury, but not untouched. Aegis' saber traced a shower of sparks along his waist. A howling rose from the tortured steel.

---

_I've got to kill him. _

Athrun exploited his opening, lunging towards the hated gundam. It fell back, receded like an ocean tide, and he roared, chasing it, hacking downwards with brutal efficiency. Their sabers threw up molten gouges of light, colliding, yellow-on-yellow-on black. Afterimages swam in his vision. He saw nothing, though, felt only the jar of the blades as they struck and struck again. Vengeance ran like mercury in his veins and he threw himself forward, beam-sabers murderous arcs in the night.

_Dearka. Nicole. _

They batted against each other, drawing coal-fire streaks on the velvet darkness, limbs twirling in a frenzy of skill. Athrun crouched low, avoided an ambitious decapitating slash, then tore upwards. Before his strike landed, his enemy blew away, edging out farther into space.

_No. You cannot escape. _

Priming his thrusters he followed, snapping at the Ambition's heels with shining fangs. Out-maneuvered, the Scourge attempted another reversal-swipe, was denied. Athrun held both his foe's sabers with one of his own, lashed using other at the deep blue leg. He missed by millimeters, the enemy sidling past with infuriating grace. Sneering, he cut his own thrust, allowed Ambition to overextend itself – it didn't. Sensing his own trick, the Scourge pulled back, then made a decisive counter-charge, once again forcing Aegis to the defense.

_Am I just not strong enough? _

He shot forwards, sabers pressed like iron bars horizontal to his enemy's. As Ambition gave way, drawing him further, he forced open their weapons lock, unbalancing the suit, then dove in that instant of opportunity for the kill.

And was, once again, frustrated. Nimbler than Athrun believed possible for a mobile suit, Ambition circled away from the blow, bringing its own blades to his neck. Aegis' engines groaned as he fired his thrust, ripping through the vacuum before the glowing beams descended. His adversary recovered seamlessly, turn to face him.

_This man murdered Lacus. _

His breath came harsh, sharp. Blood flooded his veins like flame. And then he veered savagely around, stomach flying into throat as he turned the gundam, gunned his afterburners. Ambition was ready, silent. As he approached, it opened its CIWS at his head. He ignored it – the shield trick wouldn't defeat him this time. As they rushed together Ambition raised an arm, saber sprouting as charge met thrust. Jaw clenched, Athrun rammed through its guard, sabers seeking the heart as-

And was blindsided, as a blade from nowhere tore out his left flank. Lighting flashed bloodlike against his torso as he grunted, controls fizzing as the Ambition drew its blade over the length of his side.

_Lacus. I will avenge you. I promise. _

Darting sideways, he evaded the worst of the blow, righted himself. Ambition came to him, a raven with talons of light.

He stared at his doom, breath hitching, shallow, slow. The world shrank till he saw only the blight-black mask, the baleful yellow eyes like destroying stars. They fell crisply, speed vertiginous, and then was upon him. And then he closed his eyes, released the air,

Saw, in a single, jewel-like seed, a nova of emerald light.

---

Lacus tried her best to stay silent, clutching Haro fervently to her chest. Outside, the world collapsed and boomed, roared, clanked, and simmered as Kira fended off the red mobile suit. Despite her best efforts, she was a bit afraid to die: not now, not when she had so much to do, not when her father still lived and PLANT still looked to her for guidance. And, loath though she was to admit it, a tiny selfish sliver in her heart was not ready to go - was greedy for life, love. She found herself cursing Kira, cursing the fate that had tied her to this monster, but then realized that without Kira, she would already be dead.

The Ambition luched, spinning like a turbine as shots grazed its edges. Had she not been a Coordinator, she would already have vomited. Haro lay silent, trembled. She hated war.

She peered back, over her shoulder, daring to meet the eyes of the red-crested executioner. They burned, crucibles of hate. She wondered what that pilot had seen, done, to possess such hate. She wondered how Kira could bring himself to match that hatred, surpass it. The Ambition had never lost. But she was not assured by that: it only cemented the fact that someone was going to die from this terrible, lethal encounter.

Bullets banged against the steel like lead upon tin. Kira threw them into another dive. Her hair danced past her ears, tickling the sides of her face. The world spiraled, and her restraint straps felt like steel bars pressing into her chest. She was never going to a gravity-coaster again.

Recoil quaked the suit and she winced as the straps bit her. She was sure a rib had been bruised, but Kira was shuddering madly, as if nakedly cold. His knuckles, outlined against the control bars, were pale, like alabaster. Hair stuck storm-tossed past the lip of his seat.

She turned back around, closed her eyes. The world drained away like olive-black water, and she raised one small digit, pushed her hair back. Haro chirped, frightened more by its Mistress' discomfort than the thundering polyphony outside. They jerked left-right-left, and thunder filled the cockpit.

She didn't think she would be ransomed to ZAFT anytime soon.

---

"Forty minutes to contact with the 8th Fleet!"

Murrue slammed a fist on the side of her seat, stood up. "Fire!"

"Fire!"

The forward arms of the _Archangel _de-pressurized, blossomed to reveal a pair of cannons glinting stainless by the light of war. Two javelins of energy, extending parallel into infinity, shot from the apertures, drew antiparticles in whirling spirals to hungry mouths. As plasma coalesced at the threshold of the blast, _Archangel _shuddered, Lohengrins sapping its power supply. In the reaches of space, reality hissed.

The Nazca drifted, oblivious, easily in sight.

And then, like dragon's maws, the cannons disgorged twinned lances of blood-red fire, charging with impossible speed towards its target, ripping space apart in a furious, thundering salvo. Stars winked out, dwarfed by the annihilating positron beams as they scourged the emptiness.

The Nazca drifted, easily dodged.

Exhausted, the white ship coughed, compensated for the feedback.

---

_Damn. _

Aegis swarmed over him like a machine, blades flickering to the edges of his vision, streaking in, slashing, gouging, endless. Sucking breath in, he shunted a blow away, evaded another, counter-attacked only to find his saber parried. His boosters hummed as he attempted to hammer his way past his opponent's guard, but his blade caught, was denied. Then, again, the assault, a rain of light.

Matrices shifted, tumbled across his vision, diagramming the battlefield in stencil-lines, bullseyes, angle readings and motion curves. Aegis was a maelstrom of numbers, flowing across his eyes so fast they blurred. It reared above him, pouncing sharklike, saber heavy. He whipped to the side, deflected the blade but was shivered with the force of the blow. Then, the other saber, a serpentine tongue of flame, biting at his unguarded back. He launched himself forward, winced as his shoulder was laid open, wires sparkling blue charge.

Not a second for recovery – Aegis was there, a red tide, unstoppable. Blows fell with thresher-speed, a battering rhythm that he could not break.

_What is this? _

Lacus' breath was shaking, sighing. She trembled, hugged Haro to her small frame. His eyes slitted, nostrils flared.

Engine screaming, he dropped back, down, away. Like a bloodied stone it fell with him. As it drew near, saber cracking, he twisted his shoulder, plunged his blade upwards. Effortlessly, it flipped to the side, descended to flank him, fired its thrust, blades jagged with acceleration. Wisplike, he pulled away, let the enemy fly past, turn into for another stroke – and then he struck, beam-saber flowing past the open guard, burning into Aegis' chest.

Then Aegis raised both its arms, hacked down. Palladium melted as tawny light cleaved through it, ripped halfway into the Ambition's arms before Kira kicked off the his enemy's chest, forcing them apart. He drifted, arms limp and unresponsive.

_Damn. _

Aegis' helm spat fire, raking the flimsy blue Ambition with concussive rounds. It twitched, withered as holes from two 75 mm CIWS spread across its frame. The cockpit cracked, threw debris like shrapnal. Kira growled, threw up an arm to shield Lacus from the bladed fragments. A shard of glass buried itself into his bicep, drawing rich ruby blood on its fluted tip. A side-screen exploded, peppering his face, chest, with dartlike incisions. Flames seared across his vision, caressed his side.

**Kira. I am deploying fire-suppressant methods. **

"Go!"

A cool froth issued from the sides of the chair, mottled everything in bubbly white. He coughed, waving off the dispersal gases, jetted backwards as the Aegis swooped in, raptor-quick.

---

Mwu la Flaga cheered himself quite audibly as his gunbarrels cornered the white mobile suit, energy lancing into its arms. Rau twisted, far too slow, then picked up his tempo. Sadly, the rest of Mwu's shots failed to connect, as Rau, being the snake he was, slithered out of Zero's sights. Diving like some gargantuan albatross, the CGUE strafed Mwu one-handed, arm shuddering with recoil. Moebius Zero dipped, flung its wire-gunbarrels out in frenzied spirals to avoid the rounds.

Below, Archangel was sprinting desperately towards the 8th Fleet. Limping and drained, its thrusters sputtered as it ran, fending off the hornetlike gundam – the Duel, wasn't it? - which harassed it. Mwu wove side-to-side, keeping pace with the CGUE as it flipped, evading the fire, returning its own.

"Mmhm. I should have made more coffee."

Zero banked, allowing Rau's shots to pass overhead, then made to flank, turbines whining.

He smirked, the plastic of the suit cool against his fingers, as he took the familiar Zero through its motions. Rau was rusty, defensive – his recent failures must have struck hard. Mwu could commiserate with the loss of those one could have protected. But he did not commiserate with Rau Le Creusete.

Jamming down the firing trigger, he reveled as the swooping white figure tottered on the brink of destruction, joints breaking under concentrated fire.

But then there was that flash – that damnable flash! – blade-white and he turned, threw himself madly to the right as beams sped past, instants from slaying him.

Rau was as fast as ever. But Mwu would not surrender the advantage easily. Whooping, he plunged into a double arc, Zero eating the strain as gunbarrels flailed around on their wire-links. The CGUE snapped off four more shots, took off before Mwu could get a lock.

He smiled. Challenges were fun, so long as they weren't impossible. Of course, that latter rule had never applied to Mwu La Flaga.

Wires snapping like serpant's necks, he advanced, launched his missiles. They traced great whorls of contrails as they sped towards the swanlike CGUE, which darted, opened up with CIWS.

Precisely what Mwu had been hoping for. "Bad move, Rau."

The Moebius Zero loosed its main cannon, pounding at the void with a mushroom of smoke. The pale knight reeled, jerked back as a huge scar cooled on its chest. White scrap-metal floated mournfully, splinters gouged from the wound. Mwu could feel the ire of his opponent like a knife twisted in his mind. He laughed, fired again. This was so much better than using that damn Strike.

Rau dipped under the second shot, came with his heavy sword under one of the gunbarrel wires. Mwu snapped it away, a second slow. The superhoned blade cleaved through his silk-thin wire, and Moebius Zero seethed as it lost its balance, cartwheeling from the CGUE. Rau fired his thrusters upwards, ascending out of gunbarrel range, then dive-bombed Zero, blade an argent sickle against the dark.

But, no luck for the slicing edge this time. Mwu exploded sideways, spurted fire as Rau zoomed past. The CGUE's bone-white armor rattled as bullets pelted its frame, ripping open holes jagged like sores.

It raised its rifle, blew another gunbarrel out of the sky. Mwu swore, curved away as if slapped.

---

Trang Pressman kneeled, depressed a button. The ship resounded with his hollow intercom voice.

"Norman, man the anterior cannons. Dorian, the forward. Strange as it is to say, the Captain needs help."

Affirmatives, amused, came over the line. Of course they weren't going to lose! – that wasn't possible, for Hibiki Kira. But it looked like they were in a tight spot, and while the _Corsair _wasn't heavily armed, its crew was skilled.

Trang stood, hands framing the radar-map. Dots winked into existence, detailing the locations of all mobile suits and armors on the field. Ambition was darting around madly, followed by the sharply pulsing Aegis. He flicked his gaze to the window: a night encrusted by stars. Kira had told them not to intervene – it was too dangerous for the ship and the crew – but Pressman had gotten his spot because he didn't always follow Kira's orders.

"Accelerate thrusters to full! Change pitch by ten percent! We'll strafe that suit, get it off the Captain's back!"

The crew nodded in assent, moving swiftly, silently, to their tasks. Outside, Vulcan cannon and laser fire shook the battlefield with rolling booms. _Corsair _wheeled in, inclined away from Aegis' line of sight.

"We won't be able to nail his cockpit. Try to disable his thrusters!"

"We know what we're doing, Trang." Norman's voice buzzed over the intercom, terse. He always turned cold, reticent in combat. Recycled air blew past his face, and Trang drew it in, brushed jet-black bangs from his eyes.

"Weapons lock acquired. Waiting for signal to fire." The panel displayed explosions splattered over Ambition's plating, rocking the limber suit. Aegis drew its sword, deadly with intent.

Trang nodded to the CIC. "Do it."

---

_This is over. _

Athrun swept in, sabers buzzing. Ambition sped backwards, aiming to escape. He forced his throttle forwards, keeping pace, CIWS purring. It wouldn't be long now.

And then a flood of light shot down from above, cutting his pursuit. Ambition detached its beam sabers, kicked them to head-level, and fired a short, precise burst of CIWS. Athrun's eyes widened as a saber-turned-projectile whistled towards his main camera. With minimal effort, though, he swatted it aside, looping around to dodge the second and last saber-missile.

A ship materialized from the darkness, cannons cold with laser fire. He surged across its shots, supreme, untouched.

_Clever. But futile. _

Exhilaration fonted from his stomach and he slammed the boosters, nearing the ship, speckled bullet-fire redounding of his phase-shift. The world lay before him, opened like a flower, and Ambition was broken, powerless. He had only to end it. But Ambition would not die.

_The ship. End for him what he ended for you. And then destroy him. This is justice. _

And then Aegis bared its fangs, shifting into a crablike monster reminiscent of a giant claw. As it glided over to the side of the ship, particles swarmed in the void of its mouth.

Please remember to review! The next chapter will arrive by the end of the weekend, if I get enough inspiration.

My forums: Forums Gundam Seed Reveiws: Reap what you sow

Also, I still need votes for my one-shot series. Thanks for reading!


	7. Canto III

Lotsa stuff happening this chapter.

_"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged."_

_-Joseph Joubert _

A bleeding wash of light struck the _Corsair _along its side, tracing a trail of fire. The frigate turned, too slow to avoid the blast. Metal boiled, blew apart. Screams muffled by steel walls dispersed into an airless graveyard as the ship split, seams bursting with encarmine flame. Bubbles of rose-pink light spread like a pox over the wounded frame, devoured the vessel.

In space sound did not carry. Corpses hung vacuum-dried in the air, shriveled, limbless, ash in a broken fireplace.

_Justice is served. _

He felt a sour satisfaction rise in his throat, sweet as bile. Sweat trickled down his brow, was sucked into the suit's ventilation shaft. The palms of his hands were sticky against the suit plug. He felt his stomach give a quiver and the world seemed to settle, resume its normal pace. Athrun turned, locking on to the boneless Ambition. It gazed at him: dull, defeated.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, felt tension drain from his muscles as through a sieve. He had won. His finger depressed the firing trigger, sending a red-sharp javelin of energy towards the Ambition, which - was no longer there.

---

Kira had made a choking noise, stopped piloting when the crimson suit transformed, loosed a torrent of energy at the _Corsair. _Now he was trembling, shoulders down, gloved fingers digging so hard into his palms that blood ran freely down his writs, into the burned-out computer arrays. Lacus felt her heart rip itself in two.

Why did things have to go this way? The crew of the _Corsair _didn't deserve that execution. She would much rather have died, than to see those valiant, carefree men incinerated. Kira's arms were shaking, and he slammed the panels in front of him, causing the metal to twist and implode with a snapping thunder. He turned around, looked at her. His eyes were raw, pained, like shattered amethysts; his features twisting, wincing as if on the edge of tears.

She felt her insides go to mush and she didn't know what to do, except clutch Haro so tight to her bosem that it hurt. Despite all he had done he looked so vulnerable, like, - well, like a sixteen-year-old boy. The urge to go to his side, touch his face, save him, was unbearable, a molten hook tugging at her heart. The feeling was so transfixing and wonderful and painful she could only squirm in her seat, her eyes attached to his.

His gaze was so wounded she felt like she was going to die. There was a dagger cold-hot in her gut, twisting and twisting and twisting until she nearly cried from the torture but she couldn't because he was still looking at her and she could do nothing but reciprocate. And then she saw him force back a sob, throwing his head up, and when he looked at her again his scrutiny was like a sword, and there was a grimness in his jawline so terrible that she began to shiver, and his eyes were huge and dark like suns in eclipse, pupils dilated to tiny pricks of darkness in oceans of orchid.

He was staring back at the main camera, absolutely still, as a locus of light grew, blotting their vision scarlet, and then they were tumbling to the side, and up, and gone. And Aegis was disappearing, fading away into a speck of red as they plummeted sideways through space, towards the massive white ship she had heard him call the _Archangel. _She took it all in with a detached lethargy, feeling a disconnect from her body – grief? Compassion? The ship loomed in their vision as Kira landed on one of its legs, sides sparking as he bounded towards a landing site, bashed his way in. Hissing pneumatic locks sealed their exit. Smoke rose in fingers from the ruin of the Ambition. He jettisoned the escape pod, finessed it to the ground.

---

The pod clicked down, touching lightly. Kira fired off his straps, plunged a small, briefcase-shaped object into a holder next to his chair, faced Lacus, held out his hand. She gaped momentarily before nodding, unstrapping herself, taking his fingers. He ignored the smoothness of her grip, whirled around, extracted Aristotle's holding-case, kicked open the shatterproof windows, pressed her to him and leapt from the remains of the shuttle, landing with a low boom. Panicked technicians scurried around him. Two Earth Alliance officers drew their guns. Lacus was breathily shifting, her skin like warm milk against his neck. He let her go, turned to the men, held his hands open in a gesture of peace.

"I am not here to kill you. Take me to your captain." His voice was short, like gunfire. Unthinking, they complied.

He pressed the briefcase to Lacus, strode away. "Take care of Aristotle."

She nodded, leaned tiredly against the side of the shuttle. He followed the two soldiers, emanating calm.

The men stopped in mid-stride as they were halfway down the hall. "Er…"

"What are you doing? Go!" Cowed, they obeyed.

The halls sloped past, bland yellow-on-white. He raked his gaze over the inquisitive crew like grapeshot. They averted their eyes, scurried away. The lights were harsh to his eyes as they passed a sliding door, into the main bridge of the ship. A woman with brown hair stood up, frowning.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He flicked his eyes over to her rank insignia. She was a lieutenant, but held the captain's chair. The former captain must already have died – he had heard that _Archangel _had had a rough time escaping Heliopolis colony. The remainder of the bridge crew diligently continued to work, hands flying over control panels. The threat display board was speckled with moving figures.

"Captain Ramius." He dipped his head. "You currently have one top-of-the-line mobile suit sitting unused in your hangers."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? How did you get onboard?"

He cut past her question, dispensing with formalities. "Your best aces cannot pilot it. I can. You are twenty minutes from contact with the eigth fleet. Judging from the current progression of combat, the Nazca class and its three mobile suits will overpower you within seven minutes. Your only mobile weapon has lost fifty percent of its assault capability and is now outnumbered and outgunned. You do not have time to waste."

She grabbed the top of her chair. "You want to pilot the Strike?"

His eyes were unblinking. "In return for saving your lives, you will provide a guarantee of safety for my hostage and me. You will also transport us to the nearest neutral port in or around Earth before continuing on your mission. Are my terms clear?"

She shook her head, still a bit discomforted. "W-We won't injure you or anyone you bring along, but we can't just circumvent orders. If or when we ever get to an Earth Alliance port, we will insure your safety and pay for transit to a neutral nation. I'm sorry, that's the best we can offer."

He seemed unsurprised. She realized he had probably been counting on the conditions she had just outlined from the start.

"Done."

He whirled around, exited the bridge. Behind, the two guards who had escorted him gabbled uselessly, stunned by the audacity of his actions.

He sprinted down the corridor, legs tapping so fast against the floor that the sound merged into a continuous buzz. The hanger was – left? – he had passed it on the way here. Yes. He turned into another corner, was rewarded with a sealed door. The guards startled as he dodged by, stole one's cardkey, swiped it into the reader. He dropped into the doorway, bounded off the floor and onto the mobile suit. In a series of short jumps he was astride the GAT-X105 Strike.

No time to dissect it now; he landed in the cockpit, adrenaline surging through his veins. Grabbing a spare flight suit from the backwards containment bin, he tapped the machine on, hacking through its startup phase.

**MOBILE SUIT OPERATION SYSTEM**

**///Version NV8 - N099////**  
**G**eneral  
**U**nilateral  
**N**euro - Link  
**D**ispersive  
**A**utonomic  
**M**aneuver  
**G.U.N.D.A.M Synthesis System**

**O.M.N.I. Enforcer**

"Ugh. This OS is crap."

Kira spent twelve precious seconds re-programming the machine, then stalked the massive suit over to the launch bays. He opened the comm.. network, saw a blonde man in a purple-white flight suit, as well as the face of what he assumed to be the CIC. _She's very young. Conscripted, perhaps? _

"I'm launching. Prepare the Sword Striker pack."

Off-guard, the girl squeaked, complied.

"**Striker Hardpoints ready. Prepare to attach Sword Striker Pack." **

Kira rolled his eyes, unused to the mind-numbing redundancy of military command chains. Was it really so hard to follow orders without repeating them? He didn't have time for this.

Pressing the relay button, he growled. "Cut the crap, alright? Neither of us has the luxury to stand here while you arm this mobile suit. Just send the weapons out with me in the catapult – I'll attach them myself."

Miffed, the CIC did as she was told, petulant. He clicked off the communicator, nerves humming with impatience. From the side, a bundle of metals clunked into position – he saw an anti-ship sword, beam boomerang, and blue-tinged thrusters. He grabbed the sword, attached the boomerang and blade holders, then stepped on the catapult.

"Hibiki Kira, Strike. I'm going."

The shriek of metal accompanied him as the Strike's phase-shift drew sparking lines upon the catapult's launch tract. He was flung at gut-whipping velocity into the starry night. Quickly catching his thrusters, he bent around, grabbed hold of the _Archangel_'s side, hoisted himself onto its top. The blue-white Duel stared at him, malice brimming from its sinister angles. He scoffed, drew the eleven-meter-long anti-ship sword from his back, holding it loose, one-handed.

As the Duel raised its firing arm, he tore across the white-paned floor, legs thrusting off the sides of the _Archangel _with zero-g alacrity. Then he was in the air, spinning, sword arcing down as its beam-edge engaged, a rampaging titan. Duel opened up with CIWS reflexively, then ripped open its own thrusters, fleeing backwards. Wielding the clumsy blade like a hammer Kira smashed into the retreating mech's leg, unbalancing it, then made a huge sideswipe to the Duel's torso. Duel slammed a beam-saber between its chest and the sword, thrusters roaring as it attempted to overpower him. Strike was younger, stronger – Duel fell back, crashing into the side of the ship, its head bouncing back and forth.

He wasted no time. Again he was upon it, blade moving in tremendous cleaving crescents, bearing down on Duel's upraised shield with brutal intensity. The shield cracked, its ablative coating melted, then crumpled down the middle, folding like paper. He raised his blade for a final, crushing blow, and the Duel rolled to the side, discarded its defense, sniped at him with its rifle. He deflected the shots, loped low and fast across the laminate armor like a hunting wolf. As Duel drew its beam saber, he pounced, eyes livid with savage fury.

They crushed together like stone against ocean and Duel sank, knees buckled by impact. He bared his teeth in a killer's grin and swept the saber to the side, the greatsword curving and slashing with breathtaking speed. Duel whirled around, evaded one strike, and landed straight in another. It broke away as its severed arm flew, circuitry trailing, into the void. Before it could recover Kira was abreast and then behind it, and it writhed, bisected, a one-armed legless torso. He drew his beam boomerang, prepared to deliver the final blow.

A colossal blast of energy surged inches from his shoulder, fraying the steel. He kicked Duel's useless body, shooting it away, then turned to face Aegis. His foe was red against the veil of red which stole across his vision.

"Now," he breathed, helmet defrosting, "you die."

And Strike leapt like a thunderbolt into the sky.

---

"The new pilot has driven Duel off of us! It's engaging the Aegis!"

"Ten minutes to contact with the Eighth Fleet!"

Murrue exhaled, sank into her chair. Salvation sure did arrive in strange packages. An hour ago she had been resigned to her fate. Now, their lives rested in the hands of a brazen, ruthless savior that acted far too old for his age. She gaped as she saw the pilot's maneuvering, flinging Strike into vicious acrobatics while wielding the three-story anti-ship sword like a jackknife. Mwu would be embarrassed by this kid's sheer ability.

"Captain Ramius, the girl he brought with him." She turned, saw an incomparably beautiful sylph with long pink hair. She curtsied politely, smiled. Murrue was taken aback. She was his _hostage_?

"Thank you for taking us on your ship, Ramius-san. Even though we are from different backgrounds, I hope we will get along."

Murrue shook the proffered hand, gestured for the girl to sit. "Well, we've got a lot of questions to ask – your captor's entrance was very sudden. We might as well introduce ourselves, though. You know my name, so you've got me at a disadvantage."

"Lacus Clyne," the girl said pertly, glancing curiously around the bridge. Behind her, Murrue heard a quick intake of breath. Natarle Badrugiel leaned down, intent on their captive.

"Lacus Clyne, daughter of Siegel Clyne, PLANT Supreme Chairman?"

She nodded, a bit reticent.

Murrue crossed her arms. "Well, we've promised his and your safety, and we'll follow through on that promise. Please tell us if any of the crew members give you trouble – some of them were recently conscripted."

"I hope no problems will arise. Now, did you have questions? It's been a long day and I would like to return to my chambers soon."

Murrue ran a hand through her brown hair, eyes lighting. "Oh! That's right, you'll need cabins to stay. After our conversation Natarle will show you the way."

Lacus inclined her head to the Ensign, smiling brightly. Natarle managed a short nod.

"Now, down to business." Ramius laced her hands together, affected a casual tone. "First off, why did your captor come here? Who was he working for, and why did he, on multiple occasions, assist us?"

Lacus looked to the side, thinking. "Well, I'm not really sure what Kira was doing. From what I've seen, he works mainly for himself, though he used to command a ship. He's quite notorious in PLANT as one of the only successful pirates to exist in the Cosmic Era. He never told me why he engaged in battle."

"A space pirate? What happened to his ship?"

Lacus' face grew cloudy. "It…was destroyed, in this confrontation, by a red mobile suit."

Natarle's eyes were sharp. "GAT-X303 Aegis, probably. He's fighting for us out of vengeance?"

Lacus shook her head. "I don't know. He's hard to figure out."

Ramius looked at her quizzically. "Why are you with him?"

She leaned back, tapping her lip with a finger. "I think he was going to ransom me to ZAFT for money. My vessel, the _Silverwind_, was fired upon by Earth Alliance forces. We," she indicated the strange pink orb which rested in her lap, "barely escaped. Later we were retrieved by the crew of the _Corsair_."

"You mentioned before that PLANT was terrified of him. As a fighting-trained Coordinator, do you believe that this pirate would be a threat to the security of this ship?" Natarle asked, features calculating.

"I don't know. I've never seen him fight outside of a Mobile Suit."

Murrue waved the Ensign off. "That's enough, Natarle. If he were a ZAFT spy we would already be dead, having handed him the Strike. We'll trust our luck for now. Please escort Miss Clyne to her room."

Natarle saluted, took off. Murrue sighed, gazing tiredly at the threat screen. A few minutes more and they would be safe in the bosom of the Eighth Fleet.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Please remember to review again. If you haven't already done so, do so! I wouldn't be able to update this fast without your support.


	8. Canto IV

Sorry for updating twice; I keep forgetting to proofread!

Hey, this might be the last update for a while, depending on:

1. The feedback I recieve (contributes to writing speed)

2. How things go in the my life; I've been pretty busy lately (only one-two hours to spend on this fic a night)  
As such, please keep reviewing!

* * *

_ Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. _

_William Shakespeare _

* * *

Mwu La Flaga spiraled into a docking bay, Moebius Zero hissing as it scraped against the corrugated floor, bounced into the restraining net. Detaching his helmet, he stretched, flapping the side of his suit to provide much-needed ventilation. Around, technicians swarmed like flies to carrion, deactivating the mobile armor. Mwu leapt over the side, springy on the balls of his feet. 

"Whew." He swept his forearm over his brow, wiping off sweat, then jogged out of the hanger. It had been a while since he'd used Zero, but the armor was as responsive as ever…he didn't know what those clunks at OMNI headquarters were thinking, assigning him to Strike. All they had managed to prove was that Naturals could not pilot mobile suits. He wondered how the course of this war would go, once they told Halberton the grim news.

Then again, there had been that ace who had been using Strike…he would have to ask Murrue about that. No way he was a natural – perhaps the Coordinator who had intervened for them multiple times while Mwu had been piloting Strike? Like all Mobile Armor pilots, he had heard of the thorn in ZAFT's side: the vicious warlord known as Scourge. Why that dauntless figure would assist them was utterly beyond him. He opened the door panel, stepped into the hallway. Halberton's fleet had safely engulfed them, and Rau's Nazca class had peeled off, outgunned. They were scheduled for a meeting with the Admiral in a few hours. With luck, order would be restored to this ship – though he would miss Murrue as Captain. She had been friendly and competent in a role she knew absolutely nothing about.

Techs congratulated him, slapping him on the back as he tread down the halls. Roguishly he returned their grins, accepting their praise with much-affected humility. Then he stopped, looked ahead guiltily. Sai Argyle and Flay Allster were blocking the hall, the latter sobbing into the former's chest. Mwu ran a hand through his hair.Guess the girl still hadn't recovered. Grief was pertinacious.

"How…how can they act so _happy_, Sai, when father's dead?"

Argyle looked over to him apologetically, leaned against the wall so Mwu could pass. Nodding to him, Mwu did, his good mood dispelled. Though he knew there was nothing he could have done to defend George Allster's cruiser while in that worthless Strike, he had still failed this girl. He shook his head, paced faster. No point in dwelling on those kinds of things – there was still the matter of the new pilot to attend to.

Murrue was in her office, writing. He tapped the deskside lightly, got her attention. "What's up?"

She gave him a tired smile. "Have you seen the new pilot? I'm going to have to eat my words."

He cocked an eyebrow, hiding his puzzlement. "Is that so? What is he, boy genius or something?"

She slumped down. "You could call it that. Apparently in PLANT he was a pirate that went undefeated in his mobile suit. He's only sixteen. He started when he was eleven."

Mwu slid into the chair opposite her. "A Coordinator, then?"

"I think so. He had Lacus Clyne with him."

"Really?" Mwu sat back, eyes wide in surprise. "Were they eloping?"

She guffawed, head shaking in her arms. "I must be in really bad shape, to laugh at that. No, she's his hostage."

Straightening up: "Anyway, Mwu, we've got to prepare for our brief with Halberton. Kira – the new pilot – revamped the OS, but our technicians say they can't make heads or tails of it. Luckily the Strike is almost entirely undamaged, though we have reason to believe both the Buster and Blitz to have been destroyed. We can only hope that ZAFT didn't manage to upload their databanks in the short span they possessed them."

He propped his feet up on her counter. "Aw, Murrue, I'm tired right now. Why move on to work? We just did the impossible! Let's have a coffee to celebrate."

"Isn't celebrating supposed to be fun?"

"Hey, it's really not that bad. I, who can make all things possible, will return with a cup of good coffee!"

She raised an eyebrow, deadpanned: "I'm afraid that's beyond even your powers, Mwu La Flaga."

"Don't be silly!" He dropped his feet to the ground, marched out of her office.

She shook her head, peered down again at her papers. "Victory's made him delusional."

---

A delusional man walked into the bar. A brown-haired kid in a black flightsuit glared menacingly at a cup of coffee, then raised it cautiously to his lips for a sip.

He ran over to the sink, spat it stuff out. "What is this? The coffee here is despicable! Why are Naturals so useless?"

Mwu held his palms up in a warding gesture. "Whoa, kid, I'd watch what I was saying on a ship full of Naturals, if I were you."

The boy's gaze could freeze lava. "The Hawk of Endymion. Your reputation precedes you."

Mwu stuck his hand out. "As does yours, Scourge."

Kira looked strangely at the man. What was with people and shaking his hand? Whatever. He grasped the other's palm. The man grinned, squeezing Kira's fingers.

Ah. It was some kind of Natural dominance ritual. Kira tightened his grip, fingers exerting literal bone-crushing force. Mwu's face turned red, emitting a strangled sound.

"Pleased to meet you." Kira turned away, vivisecting the coffee machine. Behind him, Mwu wrung his hand desperately, attempting to restore feeling to his digits.

Having recovered: "Hey, kid, you know what's wrong with that coffee machine? It's been spewing junk for weeks, but our beans are still fresh." _C'mon, Scourge of PLANT, live up to your name…_

Kira popped the lid off the machine, then turned away with a disgusted look. Snatching a pair from pinchers from the cupboard, he worried a rotten-looking morass of soggy grey-brown material out of the coffeemaker. "You've never changed the filter for this machine, have you?"

_Jackpot! Now to massage his ego so he won't go berserk on me…_La Flaga scratched the back of his head. "Er…well, that…doesn't enhance the flavor?"

Kira turned away, refusing to face him. _Why are Naturals so stupid? _Flipping open the trash can, he deposited the filter, rinsed the machine, set it down on the counter. With a calculated flick of the wrist he placed a cup of fresh grind into the coffeemaker, turned it on, and leaned against the counter, resigning himself to the wait. In the corner of the room, the digital clock flashed monochrome.

"So…you piloted the Strike, huh?"

Kira looked blandly at him, then down to his flight suit.

"Ah. Point taken."

_Why are all Coordinator aces such great conversationalists? _Mwu settled on a stool, hunching down so that the machine's coffee stream was at eye level. Blearily he willed it to work faster. The stream weakened to a trickle. Mwu stared accusingly at the nonchalant corsair. That kid must have cursed the machine! La Flaga had seen far too many movies to trust a pirate.

Kira regarded him with infinite disdain, as a hawk might regard a slug – not even worth the effort to consume.

Screw trust, this was getting boring. Besides, the kid might develop myopia, working his eyes like that.

"Hey, kid, I've been wondering something…"

"What?"

"Why'd you help us out at Heliopolis and Artemis? I mean, being a Coordinator yourself, you can't support the Earth Alliance in this war."

"I didn't."

"What?"

"I didn't help you. Attacking the G-Units while they were already engaged in combat was simply more efficient for my needs."

"So-"

"The coffee's ready." Kira opened the dispenser, poured himself a cup. Holding the mug in his palms, he took a slow sip, an unwonted look of bliss sliding over his face as the liquid seeped into his veins. _Serviceable. _

Mwu was staggered by the kid's expression. He actually _liked _it? Well, Coordinators were supposed to be immune to major diseases. Mwu nabbed a cup, took a tentative sip of his own.

_Triumph again! The impossible, made possible – and all thanks to me. Murrue's going to freak! _

Victorious, Mwu swaggered out of the room. Kira slid to the ground, reveled in the feel of the drink in his palms, throat.

---

"GAT-X105 Strike."

Rau Le Creusete tipped his mask to his two surviving protégés. "His attack patterns are, if you will notice, _uncannily _similar to those of the Ambition's."

Freezing the Strike in mid-lunge, Rau rewound, clicked the screen off, then popped in another disk. A slender, dark blue suit rammed its way onto the _Archangel_, forcing itself into a landing bay. Fifteen minutes later, the Strike emerged to menace Yzak.

"And, with this footage, we can conclude…"

"…that the pilot of GAT-X105 Strike is the Scourge." Athrun's eyes were merciless.

"Disgusting! What kind of Coordinator would betray his own kind to throw his lot in with the Naturals?" Yzak threw himself forward, as if snarling at an invisible foe.

Rau shrugged. "The enemy of my enemy is a friend. He's an opportunist. And, apparently, he is our enemy."

Athrun pursed his lips. "That still doesn't explain why he would so brazenly attack us without prior provocation."

"The Scourge is a pirate! What provocation does he need to get his hands on cutting edge technology?" Yzak reeled on Athrun, having found an outlet to direct his rage.

Tetchy, Athrun snapped back, "He's too smart for that. If he needed the technology it would be more efficient to employ information warfare. Don't you remember the Lazarus incident?"

_Impressive. Patrick must have told him; that wasn't released to the general public. _Rau raised a knowing finger. "Let's not get sidetracked, men. Athrun, you seem to be on the right track. Please elaborate."

Yzak steamed, retreated. Athrun gazed at the wall for a moment, harnessing his thoughts.

"The Naturals...maybe we haven't given them enough credit? It's possible that they knew only Coordinators could pilot mobile suits, and sent out the first pilot of the Strike to lure us into a sense of security. I wouldn't put it past the Earth Alliance to contract with renegade Coordinators for the GAT project – after all, the units were developed in Orb, away from the eyes of Blue Cosmos, and most generals are too seasoned have anti-Coordinator sentiments. Maybe the entire series of attacks was a cleverly designed ruse: the Scourge making the most of his obsolete mobile suit in ambushes before playing the trump card of Strike – an ace they had hidden in plain sight."

Rau was a bit taken aback, but hid it well. _My, my. A golden goose. _"An elegant theory, Athrun. The Scourge could have been disseminating information to the Earth Alliance this whole time, gathering combat data for later production models. If this is true, though, I fear we have been had. Led to believe we had triumphed, we instead snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. The Scourge has beaten us all – he is indeed a formidable foe."

Yzak nodded curtly. "Zala's theory does make sense. Arrgh! If we had just been more perceptive, Dearka and Nicole-" He slammed a fist on the table, rattling Rau's desktop ornaments.

Rau leaned into his chair. _Ah, budding conspiracy theorists. So easy to mold into zealots. _With the Scourge's activities as smokescreen, Rau's own connections would never be investigated, his loyalty never questioned – after all, was he not the white inquisitor who had flushed out the pirate-turned-spy? Zala had been far more useful than he had ever imagined. He would have to commend Patrick on his son's devious mind.

Had he not been wearing a mask they would have caught the jovial sparkle in his eye. "Well, men, what do you propose we do about this revelation?"

Athrun was sharp. "First we alert headquarters. Then we strike at night, and obliterate the _Archangel_. With a full convey of _Nazca-_class ships, we can overpower even the _Archangel_. In the chaos, we'll also get a chance to wreak havoc on the Earth Alliance's 8th Fleet, the cornerstone of their space power. We cannot allow this breach to spread."

Rau nodded. "A sound plan as always, Athrun. We move at 0100. Dismissed - get some sleep."

They left, and he chuckled to himself. How fitting that the boy who began all of this would rightly suffer the blame for it.

---

Kira slunk out of the bar, rubbing his eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have fallen asleep – that demented Natural girl had attacked him on sight, raving about evil Coordinators, and without his reflexes he would have had to deal with an annoying stomach wound. Didn't this ship have a brig? Unstable people like that needed to be quarantined.

Yawning, he decided to retrieve Aristotle, then go to bed. The customary four hours of sleep wouldn't suffice tonight. He paced down the glaringly lit hallway, stopped outside the room next to his, and passed the cardkey over its slot. The Ensign who had been in charge of the keys had been far too careless with her motions, and he had a history of theft that spanned ten years. Wraithlike, he stepped in. As Haro unfurled he glared it into silence, then treaded over to Lacus' – Miss Clyne's bedside and gently hefted the box-black suitcase. His eyes wandered over to Lacus' sleeping form, hair in wavy tresses down her back as she hugged the pillow, breath silent and small, the side of her cheek as soft as moonlight. She had always gotten along well with-

_Damnit. _

He had been valiantly attempting to avoid thinking of his fallen crew, knowing that his emotional instability would damage others around him, but- he should never have come in here. As silently as possible, he stormed out, bursting into his own room before the icy composure of his façade completely collapsed.

He couldn't quell the memories, once they started their insidious tracks. His mind wasn't designed to forget.

Five-feet ten, two hundred and fifty pounds. Brown hair, blue eyes. Genetic deficiency: dyslexia. Name: Norman Strikebacker. Position: 1st Gunnery Mate. Ethnicity: Caucasian, Atlantic Sphere. Kira had caught him in the corner of his eye, a desiccated cadaver hanging in the vacuum of space.

Two-hundred and seven centimeters, one hundred eleven kilograms. Blond hair, blue eyes. Genetic deficiency: reduced adrenal glands. Name: Joseph Sturgeon. Position: Chief Mechanic. Ethnicity: Teutonic, one-fourth Jewish.

Five-feet six, one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Rust hair, grey eyes. Genetic deficiency: muscle mass. Name: Reeve Ethans. Position: System Analyst, Engineering. Ethnicity: Mixed.

Five-feet two, one hundred and ten pounds. Red hair, green eyes. Genetic deficiency: immuno functions. Name: Kaitlyn Sher-pardson. Position: Tactical Demolitions, Larceny. Ethnicity: Mixed.

One hundred and thirty-two centimeters, one hundred kilograms. Dirty blond hair, silver eyes. Genetic deficiency: Diabetes. Name: John Strookchef. Position: Head Cook. Ethnicity: Briti-

"_Thanks for the answer, Captain." _

"_Aw, we've got to do _that_?" _

"_Er…well, you see, we haven't installed the modulators yet because-"_

"_That's easy for you to say." _

"_Hey, why's it so cold in here?" _

"_That new girl, I don't trust her." _

"_Lacus Clyne? Are you serious? Omigosh I'm her biggest-"_

"_-pan. And I'm almost out of MSG; we've really got to do another supply run…" _

"Shit," he breathed, eyes burning, blurring. He forced the tears back and they retaliated, spilling down his cheeks, dribbling on the floor. _God, I'm so pathetic. Ultimate Coordinator, right? Right. Why the hell does your sobbing sound like a tearing windmill? _

He smashed a fist on the floor, watched the plaster and steel dent and snap. He looked at his knuckles, powder-white, and wished that he could see blood on them.

* * *

Please remember to review! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, particularly Alpha! 


	9. Canto V

Hey guys, this chapter came unexpectedly fast. Enjoy!

* * *

"If you're going through hell, keep going." 

-Winston Churchill

* * *

_It is dark, and the artificial sun is high and bright in the sky. He staggers, clutching his opened gut, blood leaking in fresh red streams, merrily past nerveless fingers. He drops the scalpel and exhales, seven-year-old hands grasping, grasping limply for the blade which has clattered into the gutter, fallen – now gone. A calamity for little hearts but, holding in his innards he fumbles with the other hand, willing himself through the veil of numbness, draws forth a needle stringed with thread. He holds it to his split skin but his fingers betray him, too weak, too still, as if filled with lead or death. The needle falls onto gravel, and blood falls in tomato-red splotches alongside it, stains the sidewalk and he stumbles back, frustrated. The others will return soon and he cannot waste the material. _

_Overhead the sun streaks through carbon trees, slanting through slitted branches, an eerie ghost-white. He lies on the ground, a failed experiment. _

_So he would have to do it the other way. Used as he was to pain, this would still be unpleasant. He can hear the knocking together of his lungs as they inhale, exhale. _Clink, clink. _Reinforced membrane-steel was not made to bend. Airflow was becoming a problem – and he dreaded having to work on the heart. Hair hangs down, sullen before his eyes, and he cannot find the will to blow it out. He is still, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off. With pain, competence. _

_While he hallucinates in the ether-void of numbness he sees them come to him. He would run if he could move. But he cannot flee; cannot hurt. The ether is in his veins: strangling, insidious, seductive. He could sleep now but that would be a waste. _

_They cluster around him, dead, bloodless, their faces tattered and bone-shredded, cloth hanging off ash-turned limbs like towels on a clothesline. He twitches a smile; it is all he can do. With escape, weakness. _

"_Captain. We've got to attend to the matter at hand." Sturgeon gestures towards his stomach, fingers gaunt, skin charred black and fused to skeletal digits. He nods, cannot speak. _

"_Captain. Food's ready." John ladles a potpourri of steaming dead-grey dregs into a bowl, presents it to him. He nods, isn't hungry. John shrugs, setting it to the side. "All the more for us." _

"_Kira," A girl, about his age, carries her head in her hands. She smiles, brown ponytails swishing around her wrists, face ridden with freckly spots. "today's my birthday. What should we do?" _

Like Saint Denis_, he thought. How interesting. I must go steal a cake, after I operate. His blood pumps smooth and slow, spurting in powerful thrusts from severed arteries. In a few seconds more it will have clotted, and no more of this wasteful painting. _

"_Captain. Take a look at this." Reeve thrusts a board in his face, eyes searching, anxious. "These losses are unlike anything we've suffered before." _

_Casualties: 57_

_Engine Room: Destroyed_

_Hanger Bays: Destroyed_

_Salvage: Destroyed_

_Commons Area: Destroyed_

_Captain's Cabin: Destroyed_

_General Quarters: Destroyed_

_Bridge: Destroyed_

"_Most grave," Reeve reprimanded, "we must improve." _

_The numbness was receding now, retreating from the tips of his fingers. He flexes, frowns. Still not enough to operate. And, the cut was closing – how inconvenient! _

_Ahead, birds wheel, chasing each other against the blunted white sky. They defecate on the group surrounding him, as if they are statues. Nothing fell on him. _

"_Urgh." The girl's head had hopped backwards, is facing the stump of her neck, where a glob of refuse trickles down. "Now I'll never get this back on! Kira, do something!" _

"_Captain!" Norman strides over, expression concerned, imperious. "I can't read! What does this say? O-bit-tu-ary…"_

_Why hadn't any fallen on him? That wasn't fair, it just wasn't. _

_He can feel his fingers again and the blood which had dried, caked on them like sordid plaster. He crumbles the blood off, watches it fall in slowly flipping clumps to the ground. The organ armor, too small now for his vitals, chafes him like an iron maiden. _

_Damn. He had dropped his scalpel. Now he needs to steal another one, and with this wound, too. He hopes the idiot hospital people won't put up too much resistance – he still doesn't have much control, what with the drug. _

_He struggles to his feet; is pushed back down. "Captain, we've still got to attend to the issues. This isn't like you…" Joseph looks genuinely worried now, his eye sockets crinkled, apart. Strips of flesh trail from his cheek, displaced by an angry punch of shrapnel. _

_He sighs – very well. Still, he will have to attend to his organs, after this. _

_The birds course around the sky, multiply. Whiteness falls like rain, burying the company in refuse. Nothing falls on him, and he burns from the injustice. _

"_Captain. I've got to get a new liver, the old one was ripped out!" This from John, who stares morosely at the empty cavern of his ribcage as soup trickles in; trickles out. That is...a bit unsettling. Something is wrong with this picture – he just can't place it. Just can't – maybe it's the anesthesia? That's nearly half gone, though, the numbness fading fast. _

"_We've got to have a party or something…" The girl, fingers on lip in a grotesque parody of true life, patters around the crew, earning smiles, a tussle on her hand-held head. She grins, one eye squinting as Norman grinds a knuckle into her russet-brown hair. "Ow, mister!" _

"_Oh, sorry kid, guess I don't know my own strength. Tell ya what, I'll go get you a cake!" Norman stands up, newspaper discarded. As he walks away, he is buried under bird-extruded white, like a snowman. He forces one leg forward, and then is encased, motionless. _

"_That son of a gun!" Dorian strides over to Norman's statue, raises one sledgehammer-thick fist. Kira starts – he can't do that! Kira springs to his feet; is forced back down. _

"_Now, now, Captain, it's not the time! We've got to transfer my spine and fix up Ally's head!" _

"_But Norman…" His voice cracks, fades to a sighing creak. Joseph turns an ear to him._

"_What's that, Captain? Can't hear you. Jeez, you're normally so loud. Speak up, we know you can't get sick!" _

_And Dorian brings his hand down into the marble-like statue and there is a splintering thunder and Strikebacker is no more. _

"_Woulda look at that? All better!" _

_And now the drug is gone and he is free, the world restored to clarity, but tingling electric shocks run through his muscles and when he tries to stand all is weakness and dizziness. And the more he pulls at the coiled steel, the weaker he feels. _

"_Oh god! Captain! It hurts!"  
_

_The birds descend upon them, pecking and tearing, and there is one, and it is huge, and terrible, and red, red like blood running past broken lips. It is a crow with wings that beat like shields and it sets upon Joseph like a plague and Joseph writhes, flesh returning to his fingers, skin returning to skull, limbs to sockets, ash to bones. And then Joseph is horribly, horribly alive, and he screams like a knife twisting in Kira's gut, and Kira looks down and the wound has re-opened, is spilling, spilling his life's blood into the gutter. And then Joseph makes a choking noise and dies. And the crow moves to Ally, the girl. And she stammers, incoherent with pain, and is strangled, and lives, and dies. _

_And the crow turns to him. He sees vengeance in its eyes. And he cannot breathe, because his lungs have outgrown their steely sheathes and he has not the strength to replace them. So air rattles through his throat, like death – a death rattle? – and he cannot move, cannot move. And the crow stalks towards him and its eyes are green like envy and it opens its blade-sharp beak but the other birds swarm it, and stop it, and guard him, and if he could he would cry because there is nothing more he would want than to die, die with them. And then the tears come, and they are like acid and fire across his face and in his eyes but his skin remains untouched – only the self-inflicted wounds hurt him – and he lives and wishes. Lives, and cries. _

---

Lacus sat up in bed, her breath like daggers in her lungs. She had been sleeping perfectly fine until – until she had heard the noise from the right, like a wounded lion. She trembled. Kira slept to the right. She could go…?

But why? When he had done nothing for her but capture and terrorize-

_Lacus Clyne! Stop thinking like that! _

She would go. She was pretty sure the lights weren't voice-activated in this ship, but Coordinator eyesight was more than up to the job: desultory illuminance filtered in from slits in the door. First, to get dressed and, wait – he probably wouldn't want Haro around, it seemed to annoy him, and she was pretty sure Haro wasn't too fond of him, either, but – the noise increased, like a roar mixed into a sob.

She slipped on her slippers, nightgown swishing around her ankles as she made her way into his room. The air was a wall of ice, and she held the flimsy gown material around her shoulders as she paced in. Had he hacked the thermostat?

Next to the bed, the briefcase. On the floor, a figure, twitching in the fetal position, tear-tracks fresh down violently shut eyes. He was grinding his teeth and shuddering and shivering, still in his captain's uniform, limbs contracted madly as if in the death throes of tetanus. He made a convulsing sigh-sob, face an image of torment. Next to him, the floor was spotted with – blood? – and indentations. She cringed, heart constricting painfully as she beheld the tortured sight. It hurt just to look at him.

She pulled back her fear, knelt. A tentative palm moved down, touched his face.

He froze like a startled beast. She did, as well.

For one terrible moment she thought that she had awakened him, but he failed to stir, eyes still resolutely shut.

She was unsure what to do. Speaking with people, working out their troubles – she thrived on that. But this degree of pain… Even after her mother died, she hadn't been reduced to this. Still, she felt something like happiness spread in her bosem.

He was a lot more fragile than he looked. Her palm wavered, unsteady, then she formed her resolve. Hibiki-san- Kira's teeth were chattering as if bitterly cold, but he had steadied, muscles half-relaxed. Slowly, gently, she gathered his head into her lap – her mother had done this, those days before she left – and began to sing.

The melody flowed from her lips, and she reached back, slid the door shut, contented herself with the cold. Kira gave a long, anguished sigh, and the tears relented as he uncurled, like a child.

---

_0030 Hours _

Athrun looked in the mirror. Two cats-eye orbs looked back. As he fixed his wrists, adjusted the collar of his uniform, he thought of Dearka, Nicole. Nicole…why? Nicole, who loathed war with every fiber of his being, who hated up-front assaults, who would become a great pianist, the best, and tour PLANT, did not deserve to die. Dearka, the insolent blond, hadn't been a friend – but he had been a comrade. The scientists, of course, would be disappointed at the loss of Blitz and Buster, but they had already downloaded the data. Grief did not speak in 1s and 0s. Athrun clenched his fist under the running spigot. Their deaths would not go unpunished.

The Scourge. He had been close last time, to vengeance. But Hibiki Kira, the murderer, had escaped, had returned to cripple Yzak's Mobile Suit and inflict significant damages on Athrun's.

Hibiki was a traitor to PLANT and all his kind. Lenore Zala, his mother, had always told him that the lowest depths of hell were reserved for those who betrayed nation, people, and God. Athrun would do anything to expedite Hibiki's damnation. But now the Scourge was sheltered by the Alliance's 8th Fleet, and Aegis was the only functional G-Unit they could field. The odds, admittedly, were grim, even with three more Nazcas and the _Gasgow _supporting them. GINNs, while lethal against mobile armors, were no match for the onslaught that was Strike. Athrun would have to locate and engage the murderous corsair as soon as he emerged.

Le Creusete told them – "_keep friends close, enemies closer_." Supposedly the quote was from a pre-CE tactician, though the name now was lost. Athrun had taken it to heart, done what research he could.

Kira Hibiki's origins were unknown. No DNA samples had ever been collected, nor fingerprints taken. The Scourge generally used a voice modulator when making threats, demands. He had stolen or destroyed 63,000,000 credits worth of PLANT and ZAFT assets within his five-year reign as lord among raiders. His one ship – the one Athrun had obliterated – was lightly armed and armored, but compensated by fielding the most feared mobile suit in or around PLANT.Hibiki himself was rumored to be virtually undefeatable in small-unit combat. His first, most notorious feat, the Sack of Mendel, was supposedly carried out only by the pirate baron himself. If speculation was to believed, Hibiki had single-handedly wiped out the entire Colony, then planted an explosive charge in Mendel's core strong enough to rip the installation apart – and escaped successfully.

Athrun didn't give much credence to the idea, as it was obvious that the story was propaganda spread by the Scourge to instill fear into the populace. But the Scourge was deviously, ruthlessly opportunistic, seizing upon every major atrocity and attributing it to himself, elevating his status among PLANT citizens from renegade scapegoat to near-myth. It was the psychology of the boy who cried wolf: lie too many times, and people stop believing you. People grow complacent.

Exactly what the Scourge had wanted. Athrun conceded that his adversary's plans were deeply thought-out, brilliantly encompassing. When Hibiki had struck they had been blindsided as if by a lighting bolt from a clear blue sky.

Athrun checked his appearance once more, straightened the neck-high collar, stepped out of the room. His executioner tread boomed like death knells in the empty passage.

He would not be denied justice again.

---

Kira was nudged into wakefulness, sleep sliding from his gaze like a veil. He had overslept, but was too comfortable to care – had he ever rested that well? The thigh beneath was soft, like cream. His internal clock had struck one.

Wait.

Wait.

Thigh?

His eyes snapped open, razor-sharp, and he sprang back like an adder in rewind. He fixed his gaze on the girl who was slumbering in his room, chills shivering through her frame as she leaned forward, palm passing through the space where his cheek had been, touched her leg. She murmured to herself, shook awake. He gaped.

He had no memory of letting her inside his room. Had she seen him? When he was-

Damn. The captor never displays weakness to the captured. If she knew – she undoubtedly did – about his nightmares he was ruined. No Scourge could be so human as to be flawed, and still play his part. Fear drove itself, an unfamiliar stake into his chest. She was awake now. Damn.

She yawned, parting the fringe of her hair, legs sliding against each other under the cloth of her gown. "Good morning, Kira."

He steeled himself, quelled the self-loathing rising in him like bile. There was no place for kindness in this relationship. "What did you see?" He made his tone blade-sharp, stance aggressive.

Shocked, she stared at him with liquid blue eyes, began to reply. "You were on the ground, and shivering, and-"

Too much, already. "Did I give you permission to enter my quarters?"

"I- I was scared. You looked injured-"

"I did not give you permission to enter my quarters. If my nighttime habits disturb you you may request to be moved to another room. Do not come in here again."

"I was trying to help-"

"Regardless of my particular conditions – I assure you, these…issues are a frequent occurrence and not something I cannot dispense with – you will NOT go against my orders. Do you understand your situation? I am not- like-" He shuddered. "-them." She would know he meant the crew. The pain was still too fresh to continue.

She was concerned. "You-"

Pity. How dare she.

"Leave."

His rage was tangible, barreling towards her. She drew herself to her feet, still shaking from cold and shock, departed.

After she had left he collapsed against the table. One more thing to despise himself for. At least it was nothing he wasn't used to.

Then the room was incarnadined and a wailing rose from the walls.

"Condition Red has been issued. All pilots, report to their launch bays. We are under attack. Repeat, Condition Red has been issued…"

Good. He had needed a distraction.

* * *

Whew! I'm on edge from that one. Thanks for reading - please remember to review! 


	10. Canto VI

Sorry for the double update. Had some proofreading errors I forgot to correct.

Hey everyone! I tried to get this up _yesterday_ but was broken for me...sorry --. Please remember to review!

* * *

_ The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums. _

_Arthur Koestler, __Janus: A Summing Up_

* * *

The Launcher this time. He disliked cannons but the Sword didn't have enough firepower and Aile was just weak. 

The Earth was huge below, flooding half his vision. He wondered what it would be like, to visit. Around, the Naturals' ships swarmed, feebly contesting ZAFT's endless suits. He leapt off the Archangel's side, blew one GINN out of the sky. Debris rained splintery onto his armor as it blossomed into a rose of fire. Two more noticed their fallen comrade, homed in on him. He depressed the trigger, and another died. The last opened fire with its rifle, splattering his phase-shift like rain. He didn't bother to dodge, took aim. The GINN imploded, circuitry flailing as vacuum seized onto the hole in its torso.

A Nazca-class retaliated, spitting virulent beams at his shoulders. He released his thrusters, dropped below them, fired. A shaft of light plunged into the ship's belly and it tottered, sides belching flame before it exploded. Bolts of energy like meteors fell towards him, and he cartwheeled, bringing the hyper impulse cannon up and backwards, his blast shattering the GINN's head. Archangel strained, Gottfrieds lancing fire into the mob of GINNs as its CIWS whirled madly, tracking incoming missiles. He frowned. This was too easy. A second Nazca confronted him and he evaded its main cannons, darting between their spaced beams and crashing into its centerpiece with a steely thunder. CIWS pattered uselessly against his arms as he dropped the cannon, leveling it at the bridge. Inside, men screamed, ran, stared. He fired, and they were drowned in a wash of light, pinkish fires streaking across the panes of the melting glass.

Kicking off the ship's carcass, he locked onto a contingent of three dull green GINNs, squinting as the hyper impulse cannon roared again, scything through the suits in a line. They shuddered, twitching crazily from impact, became still. He opened with the Vulcan cannon, pounding away at another suit while his main guns sizzled with recoil, cutting through steel. The GINN's limbs jerked as if controlled by a deranged marionette, then the laser seared through its torso and it disintegrated.

A flight of missiles streaked towards him, but he thrust backwards, CIWS demolishing them. The projectiles cast huge orbs of light as they detonated, and he blitzed through the flare, catching the _Laurasia-_class on the other side totally unawares. Before they could track him he dodged to the side and strafed, his cannon ripping through the forward bow with savage force. It listed to the side, overcome, and dissolved into flames. Turning, he avoided a glancing shot to the side, jetting past two damaged Earth Forces cruisers as he made for the final cluster of Nazcas.

One drifted in the back, shielded by its companions. He took aim, but then a blood-red blur darted from its catapult like some frenzied insect. He narrowed his eyes.

It was about time. Aegis flared as it surged towards him, thrusters spiked with heat, sabers sprouting from its arms like fire pokers. He drew his own beam saber, launched a pack of missiles towards the suit. Predictably, Aegis cut thrust, whipped to the side with CIWS raking the missiles. Kira dropped the saber, clutched his cannon, and fired at where he knew Aegis' cockpit would be. With the detonations cluttering the crimson suit's sensors, there was no chance of evasion. His beam slashed through the darkness, a pillar of light.

Aegis flipped with impossible speed, the lethal blast clipping it on the shoulder. It descended upon him, blades drawing afterimage-marks on his optical display. Cursing, he released the cannon, turning to avoid the first blow, hand swooping down and snatching his discarded beam saber. The second slash came burning down and he twisted to match it, frame shuddering as they met. Sparks leapt from the contact edge as they strained against each other, steely muscles taunt.

Kira whirled back and down as Aegis delivered a punishing kick, leaving both unbalanced. Immediately Strike closed again, saber arcing downwards as it bashed Aegis' arm with its rocket launcher, forcing the appendage away. Aegis parried with its free arm, kneed Strike in the cockpit as it broke from the entanglement of limbs. Kira growled and righted himself, sniping at the furious red target as it disengaged, throwing itself upwards in a maddened spin.

It fell towards him in a spiraling path, the maw of Scylla pointed directly at his abdomen. He narrowed his eyes and cut loose, all guns blazing. It vomited a torrent of red downwards, and their volleys met in a thunderous discharge of energy. Wasting no time, Aegis dropped, saber-jaws working hungrily to capture him. He ducked to the side, missiles broadsiding the armor's core. It reeled away, smoke peeling off its phase-shift in waves. As he bulled his way towards it, burying it under fire, it writhed about, transformed back into mobile suit mode. They clashed, bleeding with fury.

---

"Two Nazca-classes down! One Laurasia-class down! Seven GINNs destroyed!" Neumann declared, staggered. His fellow crewmate looked over, checking his screen, whistled.

From across the room, Mwu's voice cracked through a display screen. "Three ships and seven mobile suits? God, this is humiliating! I'll have to try harder…"

Overhead, Halberton was exuberant. "What did I tell them! Those blunderers at JOSH-A aren't getting out of it this time. At last, we have our trump card."

Murrue smiled anxiously. "Well, sir, that is true, but let's not forget that a Coordinator mercenary is piloting it. We can't exactly find hordes of them waiting to enlist in the Earth Forces."

He shrugged, too happy to care. "It's the principle that counts, Lieutenant Ramius. Your ship has done an excellent job making it here. After we beat back ZAFT's sortie we can discuss the details."

Murrue didn't share her superior's optimism – they had suffered heavy losses as well, and ZAFT had just been reinforced with three more Nazcas, but kept her smile on. "I hope so, sir."

Natarle's voice rang out from behind: "Pitch 20 degrees! Valient, fire!"

The _Archangel _rocked gently as its aft railguns strafed the remaining GINNs, which swarmed away like flies, taking potshots at the white ship.

"Captain! Nazca-class firing!"

"Pitch 40 degrees! Evade!" They held tight onto armrests as the ship lurched violently, avoiding the burning lasers.

"X-number approaching! GAT-X303 Aegis! It's engaging the Strike!"

Halberton tried to maintain his composure as he watched his creations dueling. "Even if it's on the enemy side, it's an excellent suit."

His aide, a pasty man with a mammoth nose, butted into the comm. screen. "Regardless, it's on the enemy side. Shoot it down as fast as possible!"

Mwu's sardonic voice came over the radio: "We sent the Strike at it. That's the same thing."

Halberton pushed his aide to the side, chuckling. Then, eyes sharp, his face turned grim. "We cannot afford to sacrifice any more of the Eighth Fleet. _Archangel_, move to engage the remaining Nazcas. We'll show them just how powerful Earth is!"

Murrue saluted. "Sir!"

"Full thrust! Turn ninety degrees! Lohengrins, begin charging!"

Explosions outside bombarded their ears, but were drowned out by the roar of thrusters as Archangel shifted ponderously to the front line. A bevy of GINNs buzzed out, rifles flashing like dragon lilies to intercept the ship's advance.

"Fire!"

The ship _thumped _back as its positron cannons discharged, incinerating the GINNs in an eternity of flame. The sky bloomed with clouds of fire as the mobile suits fell into ash, scattered like a wake. Engines humming, the Nazcas moved to flank, beams lancing through a Drake-class as they surrounded _Archangel_.

Natarle sneered. "They intentionally threw their GINNs at us to draw our main cannon's fire. Incoming heat signals – six!"

Murrue stood, eyes flashing downward. "Fire anti-beam depth charges! Evade!"

---

"The Strike and Aegis are still engaged!"

Rau folded his hands, staring at the combat map. "Mmhm…Strike has proven to be a formidable opponent. _Gamow _destroyed, and two Nazcas…we cannot allow it to range with impunity much longer. Athrun has been inconsistent against the suit, letting his rage drive him. Perhaps I myself should launch?"

"Attention, Yzak Joule: Repairs to the Duel have been completed. Please report to-"

"Finally!" Yzak sprang up as if stabbed, sprinted out of the room.

Racing with absolutely no dignity to the hangers, Yzak panted against a wall before striding to the loading bay. The Duel had been upgraded – he hoped the Assault Shroud's firepower was worth its cost in mobility. Still, he was grateful for the mobile suit: there was a score he still had to settle with Strike, and Athrun was _not _going to kill that bastard first.

The seat was slick, newly cleaned, and he tsked as he slid the restraining straps on, punching in the activation sequence. As the mobile suit hummed to life, he brought the display down, making a few adjustments for the Assault Shroud's weight. "Alright, Dearka. This one's yours."

"Yzak Joule, Duel, launching!" Hastily, the launch doors slid open, clearing a path. He stepped onto the linear catapult, was thrown into space.

---

Athrun attacked tirelessly, deadset on his target. Around, the world was a tumult of raging beams, but he ignored the ships, dipping under Strike's guard, rearing up, slashing, turning past a failed strike and counterattacking. The range-equipped mobile suit fled backwards, unable to match the number of Aegis' blades. Still, it was staving him off, the Scourge's phenomenal skill keeping him half a step ahead of Athrun's questing strikes.

Teeth bared, he pressed the assault harder, abandoning all pretense of defense as he swerved past a saber strike, plunged his blade into the Strike's torso. It rammed itself into the blow, diverting the cauterizing energy away from its cockpit. A jagged line of molten steel opened on the Strike's chest, but Athrun had made no headway with the attack. A vengeful hyper impulse beam obliterated his right leg below the knee, and he swayed, momentarily off-balance. Hibiki was merciless, on him in a flash, exploiting the leveled field.

"Zala! Creusete says to go attack the Earth Alliance ships! Strike is mine!" Yzak's tones rang shrill over the radio-com. Athrun sighed, switched into mobile armor mode, fled the Strike. Why hadn't he been able to capture the berserk prowess of last time?

Behind, Strike thrust after him, but was intercepted by a burst from Duel. The two engaged, strafing around each other, beam sabers crackling. He put the Scourge out of his mind, focused on the fleet. _Archangel _was guarded from the flank by one Agamemnon-class carrier and a swarm of Nelson- and Drake-class escort ships. He calculated for a moment, then exploded towards the back of the line, drawing his saber over the flanks of a cruiser. As it turned, he fired into the wound, reducing it to molten slag.

The Earth forces turned, advancing sluggishly towards him, and he leapt onto another ship, ripping into its bridge. As it smothered his figure in flames he darted behind the thrusters of a Drake-class, firing his rifle directly into the engine tubes. Too slow, the craft began jettisoning its combustible engines, and the volatile fuel mixtures erupted, baking the crew alive. Without hesitation he hacked his way through another's hull, then sprang from that to his target – the flagship _Menelaos_.

Like a locust he latched on to the colossal carrier, laying waste to its carbon-steel carapace. The other ships desperately tried to find angles to strike him without damaging their own flagship, sending intermittent streaks of light past his arms, shoulders. Sliding to one side he flayed the meter-thick metal plating off the carrier, tearing with savage ferocity into the ship's innards. Inside, crewmen screamed as vacuum invaded their lungs, draining their blood vessels dry. Titianic explosions went off in the ship, and they were consumed by expanding pockets of flame. An unrelenting parasite, he continued the onslaught, gouging into the hangers, tearing apart fuel compartments and circuitry boards. A railgun bolt knocked him sideways, and he growled, furious at himself for failing to dodge it. As blood leaked into his eyes he cast away mercy. _Enough of this. You've given them ample warning to escape – much more than they ever gave us. _

He saw a missile riding on wings of flame slam into a slowly rotating hourglass. Prismatic light scattered across the colony's frame as it turned, and then there were two girls, springing around a meadow, and one of them stooped to pick up a daisy, offer it to a woman with long blue hair and emerald eyes-

And then the missile struck, and it was a seed rupturing in his mind.

---

"Admiral!"

On-screen: a scene of devastation as men scrambled with fire extinguishers, frosting the area to beat back fans of flame. Halberton leaned forward, peering to see the form of his subordinate. He coughed in the smoke, then lowered the helm of his spacesuit.

"Lieutenant, you'd best launch that shuttle! We don't have much-" He made a string of low, hacking noises, then cleared his throat multiple times. "-time."

"Admiral, may I request that the _Archangel _begin descent as well?"

His aide, sniveling to the side, started, radishlike with rage. "What! So you can save yourselves?"

Natarle Badrugiel spoke up, firing off a quick salute. "No, sir, so that all this will not have been in vain. We must save this ship and the Strike, or all these lives would have been lost for nothing."

Halberton gave a slow nod. "You're as reckless as ever, Murrue Ramius. Very well. The remnants of the Eighth Fleet shall be your shield! Not a single GINN with make it past us."

Tears shined in Murrue's eyes and she blinked them back, her brave façade collapsing. She stood up, giving a final salute. "A soldier learns from her superiors, Admiral."

And then the screen blinked off, and outside, the Aegis was lashing the ship with a scourge of ruby light. And Mwu dueled with a pack of GINNs and Murrue was crying silently and Kira roared, firing off two more shots and then _Menelaos_ was no more.

Spinning, the Aegis sprayed havoc into the crowd of ships, dodging with artful efficiency, merciless in its silent rush of speed.

"Mwu! Kira-san! Return to the ship at once! We're beginning the descent!"

"Alright. I can't do much more with this damaged frame anyway." Moebius Zero disengaged, limped home.

"What?" Kira scoffed, his eyes on the battlefield. "Re-entry can't be that bad. I'll weather it out here."

Natarle glared at the mercenary. "And what will you do if you fall unconscious, or your descent path differs from ours? We could end up falling straight into enemy hands!"

He rolled his eyes. "As if I could suddenly break off combat with the Duel. This guy is persistent. Besides, we're 'straight in enemy hands' right now. It wouldn't be an escalation of the situation."

Kira threw himself to one side, muscles straining in his flight suit. "Damn…I can't fight him in this worthless Strike pack. Alright, I'm coming back. Prep the Sword Striker and prepare to cover me."

He cut communications, and Strike pulled away from the battlefield.

Murrue sighed. "Do as he says."

Natarle, sore, sat down. "Aim Gottfrieds at approaching X-102 Duel!"

The ship tilted to the side as Kira smashed into the sides with full thrust, sprinting for a hanger. Duel followed, opening fire on the _Archangel _to draw the Strike out.

"Entering Phase Two of descent! Hurry and re-equip him!"

"GAT-X303 Aegis has destroyed 70 percent of the Eighth Fleet!"

Mwu ran into the bridge, his flight suit still steaming. "The kid's not coming back?"

As the _Archangel_'s legs began to glow fire-red, gravity shuddered through its frame. In the hanger, Strike rapidly equipped itself with sword, shield, and beam boomerang, then clanked it way out, thrusters rippling the air.

Murrue cast an eye to the side. "Jettison the civilian shuttle! We can't guarantee their safety anymore."

---

Kira brought his sword down, staggering the Duel as they collided. Whirling about, he struck the suit's arm, tearing it off with the beam edge of his tremendous blade. Duel took the opportunity to fire its railgun straight into his face, and he was an instant too slow to evade. Strike reeled, face steaming. As Yzak exulted in his victory Kira brought his arm across, firing the boomerang with deadly precision at his adversary's torso. Duel lowered its beam saber, knocking the weapon off-course, but Strike was upon it again, and it could not raise the saber in time to block. Instead he fired his shoulder-cannon once more, forcing Strike to dodge, then stabbed it in the knee with the saber. Kira kicked upwards with the other leg, jamming them apart, then grabbed, hefted the embedded saber. Sword in one hand, saber in another, it charged.

A shuttle flew by, barring each from the view of the other. Yzak screeched in frustration as Kira made to vault over the shuttle. Deliberately aiming below Strike's legs, at the passenger cabin of the craft, Yzak pushed every trigger, unleashing rifle blast, railgun bolt, and lacerating CIWS at the ship. Strike flew down to shield it, a moment after impact.

Behind him, Kira felt shrapnel rain on his thrusters. The shuttle was pierced by a javelin of light, and it burst, mirroring the seed in his eye.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I'm really busy this week so the next update might not be as fast as possible, so please review! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. 

Oh, by the way, Cagalli will be appearing next chapter.


	11. Canto VII

_Original: _Hey guys, it's been a while! Sorry I took such a long break, but I was feeling really dull and insipid over Thanksgiving and wasn't really in a mood to write. I cranked this out in two days without editing or proofreading, so please excuse the sloppiness. I've been really down lately - kinda strange, since I can't think of a reason why.

_12/5/06: _Proofread and edited. Sorry for the double update; I couldn't stand the crappiness of the chapter before.

* * *

_Main Entry:**vi·cis·si·tude**  
Pronunciation:v&-'si-s&-"tüd, vI-, -"tyüd  
Function:noun  
Etymology:Middle French, from Latin vicissitudo, from vicissim in turn, from vicis change, alternation -- more at WEEK  
**1 a** the quality or state of being changeable...a difficulty or hardship attendant on a way of life...usually beyond one's control_

* * *

_- Merriam-Webster's _

"_He's coming to."_

"_What should we do?" _

"_Make sure he doesn't get loose. They're dangerous, you know, even unarmed." _

"_Pssh. He doesn't look that tough." _

A cold steel presence on his forehead – the sound of a trigger cocking. The tip of the gun jolts a little as the hammer falls into place. He cannot see the bullet that is lusting for his brains. Around, the voices have stopped. There is a distant whirling of winds – sand against tarp? Then:

"Get that away from him! I'm telling you he's not dangerous!"

The weight is lifted. It leaves a cold circle of indented skin on his skull, and he swishes a hand up to rub it – can't. His wrists are linked together with brittle iron, rust-dry. He is not strong enough to break them. He opens his eyes.

A girl swims into focus – surmounting her, a flat expanse of oilcloth. She has leonine eyes and a mane of golden hair like stalks of fine-grained sand. Around, men with guns trained on his face. She steps back, startled, and then frowns at him. He stares at the men, then down at his tattered plasticine flightsuit. There is a splatter of blood on his lips. He makes to sit up, and safeties click in an array. Slowly, he lies back down.

There is the light sound of his breathing and the howl of the winds outside – more pronounced now, a frenzy of tiny teeth raking against the heavy canvas. The tent flaps and rails and quavers from the inside out, and the bulky walls compress, spilling sand onto the sand of the floor. No one talks.

The girl, fists clenched, takes a step towards him, menacing. She growls: "Ugh. This is stupid!"

A finger, accusatory, into his face. "What's your name!"

He makes to answer, the words on the edge of his tongue – they slip away. He scrunches his brow, tries again, fails.

"I…"

The pack surrounding him leans closer. She is inches away now, eyes curious.

He falters. "…don't know."

She throws her hands into the air. "What? I thought Coordinators were supposed to be smart! ZAFT's elite pilots can't even remember their own names?"

A burly man with wavy oil-slick hair settles his tanned hands on her shoulders. "Calm down, Cagalli. He's most likely holding out because of the interrogation setting. Don't worry; he'll talk."

She nods ferociously. "I should have expected this. Should we torture him?"

His eyes widen: they had been taught to resist this, but he hadn't really been much good at it.

Wait. Who were "they?" For that matter, who was he?

The girl is smiling predatorily in his direction. He makes to save his hide. "Wait! I really don't know. Why am I being restrained like this?"

She is vehement. "Don't think you can fool us again! As if you don't recognize _this_?" She slams a blurry photograph into his face. He sees a massive crimson machine, half-buried in sand, lying faceup in an ocean of dunes. The sun glares down from an eggshell sky. There are typed words in the lower left-hand corner of the photo.

"GAT…X303 Aegis?"

"Aha! You must have been really poorly trained." She whips the photo away, smugly triumphant. Again, the burly man calms her.

"Cagalli," he frowns. "That photo had the machine's name on it. He was descending from an extreme altitude – it's not impossible that he may have suffered head trauma. Still," the man scrutinizes him, "the symptoms he's exhibiting are very rare…"

"At any rate," A man with a green bandana wrapped around his head looms over the captive's blue hair. "he doesn't seem to be much of a threat, and it doesn't seem like we'll be getting any information from him. What should we do?"

The girl – Cagalli? - has loaded her pistol, aims it tremulously at him. "If he's of no use, then…for what ZAFT did…"

"We can't." The tanned man lowers her arm, eyes locked with the prisoner.

"Kisaka!"

"Don't be so rash. In ten years, will you regret this decision?"

She relents, sulky. He lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Excuse me, I don't really know why you're treating me like an enemy, but I can assure you that I have no intention of causing harm to anyone here. Could someone please explain my situation before my awakening?"

The girl eyes him angrily. "We don't have to tell you a thing! Guys, we should discuss our plans out of earshot in case he's faking it."

Kisaka nods. "She has a point."

She stomps into the intervening tent, and, shrugging, the majority of the gunsmen follow her. Two sentries remain, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

One, umber skin and a greasy mop of hair, pokes him brashly with the tip of his rifle. "Don't get too comfortable, pretty boy."

Outside, the sandstorm rages with frustrated abandon at the walls of the tent.

---

"I don't think he's lying." Kisaka rumbled, leaning against a pole. "He's got a poor face for it. And ZAFT requires their soldiers to clam up on interrogation, refusing to answer even the simplest questions. The very fact that he tried indicates either poor training or something wrong with his defenses."

"Well, what makes you think it wasn't poor training?" Cagalli challenged, unconvinced.

Kisaka shrugged slowly, like an undulating mountain. "The fact that he's a ZAFT redcoat might have some bearing on it."

"Oh." Cagalli had been too busy staring at his ey- scanning his face for possible tellsigns to notice.

Cyan settled down into a folding metal chair, hands clasped meditatively on the table. "The question is, what do we do with him? We don't have the supplies to feed a nonproductive prisoner. I think our best bet would be to trade him with the Tiger for some advantages."

"Negotiate with that monster?" Cagalli smacked her palm onto the table. "That goes against everything we stand for!"

Kisaka crossed his arms. "I don't know, Cyan. The Tiger is an honorable man, but you don't have anything to trade for besides his desertion of this region – I doubt that any single prisoner is worth so much. We don't really have anything we can do with him."

"Perhaps hard labor?" Cagalli suggested, looking excited at the prospect, "Or, even better– wait." She turned to Kisaka. "Can he still pilot that mobile suit?"

The battered veteran furrowed his brow. "Some cases of retrograde amnesia wipe out the series of events leading up to the onset of amnesia, and may or may not influence skillsets. However, if his forgetfulness is trauma-based, he should fully recover his identity, unless he was in a catastrophic emotional state when the crash happened."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Wouldn't anyone be emotionally stressed right before they're about to crash?"

He shook his head. "You don't understand. The victim would need to be in a sustained state of extremely high emotional intensity prior to the event. I'm not a psychologist, but post-trauma syndromes don't incur identity loss."

She puffed out a breath, hands on hips. "I was thinking maybe we could use him against ZAFT – if he doesn't know who he is, he doesn't know which side he's on, either, but that would be useless if he has no skills."

"You kind of sabotaged that option by threatening to kill him…"

"Details! We can say it was a test or something; the important thing is to figure out whether or not he can still pilot the thing!" Cagalli marched out of the tent, was floored by the drowning whisper of sand.

---

There was a hand, cool and worried, on his forehead. The leaden veil slowly dissolved from his mind and Kira opened his eyes.

Lacus hopped back like a startled rabbit. "Hibiki-san!" Her eyes flicked down to his, and suddenly a torrid surge of guilt drove through his gut. Then, she regained her composure, backing away, shoulders politely cold, and began walking out of the room. "I was just checking on you. Forgive me for not obeying your wishes."

He tried to lift his hand and it trembled like a blown leaf. Gritting his teeth: "Wait. Stop."

"Did you need something, Hibiki-san?"

"I…" Damn. He had never had a problem with words. What was it he was trying to say?

The doctor came in, depositing his clipboard on the counter. "Good morning, Miss Clyne. You'd better get some rest; this one," nodding towards Kira, "will be just fine."

He gave an eyes-crinkled smile and Lacus gave a perky nod.

"I was just leaving, Sagara-san." A fleeting glance at his eyes and she was gone.

He tried to move again and managed a straining rise to a sitting position, then gasped, fell back down. Fire burned in his tightly corded muscles.

"Already awake?" The doctor shook his head. "I haven't had a lot of experience working with Coordinators, but recovering after a mere three hours…"

Kira glared contemptuously at his hospital shift, then propped himself, elbow sore, up on an arm. "Why am I dressed like an invalid?"

Sagara's eyes widened. "You hit the ground from the xenosphere with only a Mobile Suit to protect you – re-entry would have killed a Natural, and even the toughest humans would have suffered concussions and major heat stroke. We thought you'd be out much longer." His tone was somewhere between awed and disappointed.

Kira sneered. "Well, you thought wrong." He gathered his energy and leapt out of bed with a predator's poise. The world wobbled for a moment, then held steady.

"Where is my uniform?"

The doctor shrugged, somewhat blindsided. "I guess it'd be in your lockers, since we extracted you directly from Strike. If you truly feel you're ready to go, at least take a drink of water." He gestured towards a glass on the counter.

Kira loped over, downed it.

_What had I been doing? _Images: Searing lights across a plane of darkness, the press of g-forces on his machine, an explosion that smelled like brimstone and blood in his mouth.

His fist worked automatically, shattering the glass. Cursing, he dumped the remains into a trash dispenser, wringing the shards into the bin. It would be irrational to ask, but he was never sure of his own mind.

The Natural was gaping at him – no glass had broken the skin. He snapped the man back to focus with a barked question. "The shuttle! What happened to it?"

Gulping: "Didn't you see? That white Mobile Suit, Duel, destroyed it before you took its top off."

He inhaled sharply, then bent down to clear glass fragments off the floor. As the door slid aside, he peered left and right for human traffic, then stormed away.

---

Lacus huddled on her bed, arms wrapped around her calves, Haro on top of her knees. Her shoes lay neatly arrayed on the floor and she had draped the covers around her body, falling past her elbows so that her toes peeked out curiously from the cottony depths. She had heard Ki- Hibiki-san's last call, but had brushed it aside. The doctor had misconstrued them as a couple and Hibiki-san was too intelligent not to pick that up, too unstable to leave the man uninjured. And if she had stayed longer, the man's constant stream of innuendos would have visibly embarrassed – not something to display to Hibiki, who detested weakness in any form.

Hibiki-san was still confusing for Lacus. He had obviously suffered vastly during his life – the thought of those nightmares tormenting him daily shivered her spine – but she was having a tough time pitying him, with all the crimes he had committed. His complete lack of social tact also wasn't helping.

But she had seen him fight, had seen his suicidal dive to save the civilian ship, and had wondered whether there was something in him that could still be saved. The battle had been an emotional morass for her – torn between ZAFT's fate and her own survival, Hibiki's viciousness and the strangeness of her own feelings, her attentions had been disjointed and scattered. His one selfless act had been – well, she still didn't know how she felt about it, but whatever she was feeling – it was clear.

If that made sense at all. She groaned and buried her face in her knees. Whenever she thought of Kira, nothing made sense.

_For the last time, it's Hibiki-san! _

And then the door hissed open and Kira glided in, a bit unsteady but clearly fine, and she felt something in her chest give a little flutter. He sat down, fixed her with his lancelike gaze. She pulled the sheets tighter around her shoulders.

He remained still, glaring at her – no, past her, a little to the left and side: a trick used by public speakers who disliked eye contact and professional liars. His brow furrowed, and then he was looking at her, and for a moment she thought she saw contrition in his amethyst orbs. He looked to be struggling with himself, and she unwrapped her arms, sliding her legs softly down the sides of the mattress until the tips of her toes touched the heels of her shoes.

"I'm sorry." He looked tight and uncertain, as if he were tracking a shot gone wild from the mark.

She stared at him owlishly; then, dropping her blankets around her she scooted until perched on the edge of the bed. "You have no need to apologize to your captives, Hibiki-san."

He gave an odd flinch; she noticed he had been staring at her knee. "You…meant me no harm by entering my chambers. I admit my nocturnal habits can be a bit unsettling to those unprepared for them. I should have informed you before I slept."

He sighed, eyes drawing level with hers. "Because you saw what you did, however, I can no longer let you go free."

At that, she stiffened. "I wouldn't…"

He was unblinking. "No. But they would get it out of you. You think ZAFT is incapable of that?"

His eyes were on her face but he wasn't seeing her. She felt again the cold strike of air which had punched up from her lungs when the shuttle had been pierced. _I am afraid to die. _

Then their gazes locked, and she wondered whether he was capable of killing her, even when she already knew the answer. But she had to venture, had to ask: "What will you do with us?"

He planted his chin on the triangle of arms atop his knees. "You deserve an explanation."

He rubbed his eyes, and when those commanding pupils were closed she could see the tiredness sagging off his frame, knew that he had acquired it from protecting her, this ship. Or perhaps the other way around? That didn't seem to matter.

"We discovered you in the junk belt, after the _Silverwind _had been destroyed." Kira's voice had slipped into the lectures tones he was more comfortable with. She smiled inside, glad that he had decided to drop the mask of politeness. Apologies didn't seem to suit him.

"There was a ZAFT Reconnaissance-type GINN nearby. I launched in the Ambition and dispatched it. After making contact Aristotle hijacked the life pod's operating system and deduced that you were onboard.

"I sent orders ahead to prepare spare quarters for you – the crew was a bit thunderstruck by your arrival. At that moment, I had not made any plans for your future. After you disembarked, Aristotle and I discarded the idea of handing you over to the Earth Forces for G-Unit technology and instead decided to ransom you to PLANT for sums sufficient to cover and expand our long-term plans.

"Prior to ZAFT's assault on Heliopolis, I had been contracted by a man known as the Fool to steal or destroy the GAT-X series before it reached production lines. Immediately following ZAFT's attack I was again contacted by the Fool, and told to capture the series' technology without inflicting too much damage on the machines. The mobile suits I've been fighting against, thus, have all been G-Units. One of them, the crimson suit which destroyed my ship, was- is piloted by one Athrun Zala-"

Lacus gasped, her face horrified and her chest a stew of emotions. "You- Athrun?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

"Athrun Zala was- is the man I will marry someday."

Lacus felt hatred flare in the room, tangible as a breaking storm.

* * *

Please remember to review! Hopefully it'll help me get out of my current state and write faster. 


	12. Canto VIII

Proofread version updated. If you've got spare time you may want to re-read this; I changed some plot things, though nothing really major. Mostly re-phrasing, spellcheck.

* * *

From the deepest desire often comes the deadliest hate.

-Socrates

* * *

_Absurd. I should have known. It is common knowledge in PLANT; I am sure. _

_Will she try to sabotage me, knowing my intentions? No; she cannot. There is nothing for her to do. _

_And, I do not believe she would do anything, even if she could. _

_Friends close, enemies closer, right? Perhaps I was too fearful to let this one close. Or too blind. _

_She is waiting for my response, biting her lip. The fear in her eyes leaves me wretched – why? I should – comfort? Condemn?_

_Kill? _

_She knows and she is of no use. There would be no reason not to. But- _

_I should have known. The responsibility is mine; the fault is mine. When did I start becoming lax in my research? _

_Still, that doesn't make it any less absurd. _

He rose with the shifting of pant legs as the solemn hum of the air conditioning droned from around them. In the near-silence, he could hear her breathe. She was still staring at him, but her eyes were concerned now and he could not meet her gaze, was drawn inexorably to the soft rise and fall of her chest-

She was worried she had wounded him. He could laugh from the irony.

Instead, he did something he wasn't very good at.

"I…know," he lied. "that's why I mentioned him."

Quickly, he wrested the conversation into more comfortable ground, cutting in before she could respond:

"I intend to kill Athrun Zala." He looked her in the eye and mustered all the force he possessed. "And, if you intend to stop me, I will kill you."

She blinked, her expression strange. Then, she looked to the side, pursing her lips.

"I…wouldn't expect anything less of you."

He settled back on the bed. Hatred, derision, intolerance were good. He had survived those; could deal with them. Concern…he forced back a shudder.

_We fear what is alien to us. _

"Do you wish for me to continue? I understand if you would like to be left alone."

She managed a tired little smile, and he quashed the irrational urge to caress that smooth curve of chin. "No, please go on. It's a bit lonely in here with just me."

He drew a slow breath. "I don't know what I'll be able to do with you now. You absolutely cannot return to PLANT, and if I so much as alert them to your survival this ship will be swamped with ZAFT Expeditionary Teams. After this war is over and my objectives are accomplished, I'll try to set you free, though I don't know how long either will take.

"Because you don't have a chance of relaying what you know to ZAFT, I'll talk to the Captain of this vessel and see if you can be given rights to wander the ship. Would that…alleviate your boredom?"

She looked stunned that he had actually asked, then perked up, with a genuine smile this time. "Yes, certainly!"

He had to fight his own lips from curling upwards.

_Okay, almost done. Then maybe these nagging emotions will get out of my way. _

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

She nodded. He frowned.

Here, she hesitated for a moment, then: "Could you tell me about your crew? They were so kind to me and…I- I want to understand, I really do."

He almost flinched, then sighed. _Dig your own grave, Kira Hibiki. It almost reminds me of Conditioning. _

He glanced at her and saw that her eyes were shining and he could not refuse.

_Absurd. _

---

He rattled the machine's handles uselessly, grimacing as the colossus stood inert.

Below, Desert Dawn swarmed with rifle-shouldering guerillas. He could spot Kisaka's slick mane reflecting sunlight and Cyan's distinctive bandana bobbing up and down over the dunes. The gun-pressure from behind increased, a rigid prodding.

"You still can't do it?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh and batted her pistol away from the hollow of his neck. "Nope. I could probably kill you right now, though. It was stupid of you to leave your bodyguard behind."

Snarling, she swatted him upside the head – with her palm this time, thankfully – and huffed. "You wouldn't dare. Even if you injured me – which, by the way, you wouldn't: you're too scrawny – Desert Dawn would drop you before you got out of this Mobile Suit."

He twisted around to glare at her, dropping his voice to the low, menacing baritone Le Creusete employed so effectively. "Don't delude yourself, little girl. I am a Coordinator redsuit with – most – of his memories intact. You can't possibly- ow!"

"Can't possibly. Hah!" Cagilli crossed her arms, scoffing. He winced, taking in sharp breaths as he patted the tender side of his head – two pistol-butt blows had badly bruised his brow. If she kept this up, he might seriously kill her, consequences be damned. Too bad they had locked his restraining straps, so that it was awkward even to look at her.

"Look, this isn't going anywhere, I can't pilot this thing anymore. Can we just go?"

Perhaps sensing the defeat in his voice, she relented. Keeping the gun trained on his torso, she unlocked the straps. "Alright. Do you need something to eat?"

---

"I can't believe you don't like it with the chili sauce! What kind of souped-up Coordinator elite are you?"

Munching happily on his yogurt-sauce-flavored kebab, Athrun staunchly refused to comment. Cagalli slitted her eyes, surveying him narrowly. Innocuously, he met her gaze, swallowing the kebab.

"What? It's not like I could kill you with my elbows chained to the table."

She crossed and uncrossed her legs, leaning her chin on her palm so that her mouth curled poutingly, and stared to the side. "I can't believe you'd waste a perfectly good kebab like that. At least tell me you've recovered _something_."

He shrugged. "I told you, after the assault on Heliopolis, it's all a blank." She tried to stifle a hiss.

Then, eyes narrowed, "why does the name Heliopolis bother you? Everytime I say it you make this sharp intake of breath." Athrun imitated with a proper girlish flounce.

Cagalli blanched. "Er…well…that's nothing! Hey, I'm the one asking questions here, prisoner!" She brandished the pistol, waving it around menacingly. Athrun shied away, uneager for a forth blow to the head – didn't she know she could cause Second Impact Syndrome by bashing a trauma victim?

Not, he mused to himself, that she likely cared much.

"Stop daydreaming! I asked you a question!"

He snapped to attention. "Wha? I didn't hear anything…"

She sighed. "I just said that to get your attention, moron. Now, tell me everything you know about ZAFT's attack on Heliopolis Colony."

"That's…classified."

She released the safety, cocked the hammer back, pointed the gun at his head. He swallowed, and took no enjoyment in it.

"Right. Well, the project co-ordinator was Rau Le Creusete…"

---

"_When I was seven, I led a group of children around the air duct and ventilation systems of Aprilus 2. Unlike later PLANT models, Aprilus' interior airflow is conducted through a few massive wind tunnels and shafts rather than through a myriad of smaller ones. We stole food and I generally tried to educate them – at this point my goals were not fully formed. One day I went to steal a cake for Allison, one of the girls in my pack…" _

Lacus frowned. She had never believed that her own government could be as cruel as Kira depicted – were the orphans common, or had he stumbled across an isolated group? It didn't matter, of course: one group of scrounging, starving children was more than she could abide. And what had been done to Kira himself – she shivered. It was amazing he was still alive, let alone sane.

_Oh, Kira. Your faults are not your own. _

Yet those faults were many. This teenager had been trained to kill when she was reading fairy tales – and it showed. He was so rigid: spine ramrod straight, eyes paranoid. She couldn't fault him for his reaction to her presence in his room: for a child who lived constantly endangered, waking to an intruder in one's own sanctum was usually a precursor to death. Yet why did he have to be so difficult to _like_?

"…When I returned, she was dead. She had been murdered by some serial killer, her neck broken. The rest of the pack had scattered."

Kira was no longer looking at her. His eyes traced the pattern of discarded sheets on the floor and he had made indentations on the bed near his bone-white knuckles. She began to reach over, her hand questing for his shoulder, when he began to speak again. Silently, she pulled away.

"I found the man – a Combat Coordinator named George Glenkin. He tried to stab me with a knife and I impaled it on my palm. Without a weapon, he was easy to overpower. I tore off his limbs, broke his nose and cheekbones, crushed in his skull so that it pierced his medulla, and strangled him. Then, I threw him into a stream which ran to the Recycling Ducts. It took me months to gather my pack again – by then, two had starved to death."

He recited this in a whispered monotone, so that his words blurred into the purl of the air conditioning.

Lacus was almost glad – no, not almost – that she could not escape. She would have been tempted to hide from the enormity of this problem, to wait and quash her feelings for later, but on this ship she was alone, save for the tortured soul opposite her.

Here was someone who most assuredly needed her. More than Athrun, who was calm in his valiance, who was flawless in etiquette, who was never angry with her and who had never had his skeleton ripped out and replaced with steel-backed carbon nanotubes.

_If I could heal you…think of all the good you could do. Far more than ten thousand of me combined. _

Yes. If she could help him, she could save far more lives than she had by performing pop music at memorial ceremonies. This wasn't about her- had never been about her.

She, and the world, failed to acknowledge how desperately, silently, achingly Lacus Clyne needed to be needed.

---

The desert murmured to him. It was as his mistress, the sibilant sliding of sand-on-sand-on-sky. Softly the cutting winds tore across the lapping dunes, abrasive, seductive. The air was hard and hot and clean, bleached-bone clean that sat sharply in his lungs as he exhaled under a cloudless above. The sun was the eye of the desert, lidless, but his skin was used to its scrutiny – welcomed it, in fact.

_We celebrated the Sukkot, Andrew, when we strode through the endless desert and into the final harvest. That is tradition since Adoshem himself guided us through the Prophet out of the land of Pharoahs. You should be proud to bear the name of Waltfeld. _

But young Andrew had never liked the harvest as much as the desert. He _wanted _to wander. And so he had enlisted, and wasted a good portion of his life beating on the Naturals.

_Join ZAFT, they said. See the world, they said. And now, look at me – settled down with a single lover and everything! And I'm already old! Where did those three decades go? Wasted, I suppose. Well, can't be complaining so long there's coffee in the pot._

Irony of ironies, he was lord of the Pharoah's domains – or, at least, somewhere close to them. The facts should never get in the way of a good story. Or good self-aggrandizing passage. Yes, that much was certain.

Now, if only he could be certain about the status of the Mobile Suit which had landed in the midst of sandstorm three days ago…

Aisha was in the bathroom back at his manor and now he had absolutely nothing to do but stand on the deck of the _Lesseps_, his command, a slablike behemoth of scale-propelled steel, and gaze morosely into the desert while processing reports of the higher-ups. He slumped down on the railing, eyes picking up individual grains of sand on the ground fifty meters away.

You know, with all the sandstorm activity around here, and his known propensity for doing paperwork on deck, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for these reports to get "lost" – regrettably, of course, he _would _have to try and be more careful with those papers, yes, certainly, not on deck anymore – in a particularly strong gale of wind. And seriously, what were they going to do, fire him?

He glanced around hopefully, but the air was dead. Sighing, he placed the sheaf of papers on the floor, walking away nonchalantly while resisting the urge to whistle – he couldn't (whistle, that is). The coffee should have finished by now. After he'd finished enjoying the brew and rating its relative merits and problems, he'd go work on the reports. Provided they were still there. After all, a man needed his energy.

Wait. The air was dead. Still.

He peered around, sliding behind the rim of the blast doors, ears open. The desert, too, had its ambiance: the shriek of predator birds, the cawing of scavengers, the stately rustle of sand shifting under fox-feet and snake's glide.

And he heard nothing of those.

He sighed, quick-stepping to the bridge. He had so been looking forward to that cup. Perhaps an aide would be so kind as to get it for him?

---

Kisaka grunted as his rocket launcher discharged, streaking a russet tail of flames towards the sliding BuCUEs. One took the blow on its shoulder, none the worse for wear. He tsked to himself, re-loaded the launcher. Luckily, Cagalli wasn't here – she had been too (he snickered to himself) enraptured by the Coordinator prisoner to participate. She had even rationalized it as "extracting information from the enemy," which, he mused, was a good skill for embryo- politicians to have: disguising something one enjoyed as something "good for the people." Still, Ahmed didn't seem pleased at all with the arrangement, and was gunning furiously at the undersides of one of the doglike mecha.

He spared a glance at Cyan, who was working the engine into overdrive as their jeep convoy roared over the desert. One machine had already been lost and the surviving drivers were hungry for revenge, swerving with calculated speed towards the minefield they had laid. Hopefully Cagalli wouldn't be so distracted she forgot her role in activating the mines. Kisaka, always prepared, had brought with himself the spare.

From above, the sky whined as two 40cm rounds tunneled through the air, diving towards them with a Doppler hum, wake a smoking stream. One impacted into the dunes, flash-frying the sand into glass and sending two jeeps tumbling, airbags flopping open as the machines rolled to a halt. The second shot was luckier. Kisaka winced as the shell smashed spot-on into one of the five remaining vehicles, tearing into its fuel box and then rupturing his vision with a boiling orb of oil-flames. Fire danced fiendishly on the sand as he surveyed the impact crater, strewn with limbs and steel and misted by evaporated blood. Gritting his teeth, he sent another rocket towards the BuCUEs.

Obligingly, they dodged. And then, on the horizon, a sharp, strong silhouette the color of autumnal peak. The dunes parted for a razor-lanced head, sabers sprouting like teeth from its jaw. On them was fixed single cyclopean eye, green and sharp like that of its pilot.

The Tiger had come. And his beam turrets, suddenly huge as the LaGOWE swept towards them, faced Kisaka like hollowed sockets of eyes, the pupils glowing, growing, green.

* * *

Notes: Andrew Waltfeld is of Israeli descent, thus the Jewish alludes.

Sukkot: Fifth day of Yom Kippur. (Drastically simplified definition) Celebrates the forty days and forty nights in the desert as well as the harvest festival.

Adoshem: A substitute for the name of God.

The Prophet: Moses

Please help me write with greater speed and inspiration by reviewing! Thank you.


	13. Canto IX

Proofread version. There shouldn't be any more errors; if you detect one please contact me (in email or review).

* * *

_There is no greater tyranny than that of creator to created._

_-Kira Hibiki _

---

"I hear they will be ready soon."

"Well, as the original subject was so…effective…"

A bleak chuckle. "A good word."

"…We could not simply ignore the results of the procedure. Though we've exercised much more caution this time."

He smiled in the darkness where there was no one to see. "They are near-perfect. Recently the eldest has even come to terms with the accelerated aging program. And, best of all, _they see reason_. Throughout history military technologies have been adopted into civilian life. This, this new thrust will soon legitimate our entry into a greater world – two of our most pressing dilemmas crushed in one swoop!"

"But will you have the tools on hand? I've heard you've been having supply problems lately – raiders from the Junk Guild, was it?"

"Yes, it's somewhat abnormal behavior for them. Regardless, they will desist once the first model finishes production: they are not suicidal."

"And the models? How are the designs coming along?"

The mask came off, a slender plastic slip of blue and red, and a pale white finger spun it to the side. It drifted, rotating slowly, caught the light.

"Finished."

"Oh? So soon? I would not have thought the small cabal of scientists you cobbled together would be so efficient…"

"You forget that my team is composed only of those in the top of their fields. But, more importantly, you forget that the subjects are scientists as well. They, as a whole, have vastly surpassed my own team."

"You have me slavering, old friend. When will they be out?"

"They will be ready in months. Possibly even before the close of this war."

"And, their first mission?"

He sighed, leaning back in the wheelchair. The leather creaked, absorbing his statuesque form, and he looked down at his shattered leg, loose and flaccid against the shining wheels. His hands came together, folded across his chest.

"Kill the original."

The other shrieked, utterly shriven from self-control, his laughter bounding tinny into the speakers and off the slate-steel walls.

---

"I was ten when I first escaped the PLANTs. I remember knocking two men unconscious and stealing their craft – by then I had realized what killing people meant. It was naïve. They regained consciousness and alerted Control. When the soldiers boarded I ended up massacring them all."

She was looking at him and her eyes were trembling, but her gaze was very intense. He felt a lightness in his fingertips. If she kept looking at him that way, he thought he might-

She snapped out of her trance. "Kira…what you've been through is-"

"No."

A question on her face. He sighed. _An innocent misinterpretation – though I suppose I should be glad for that. _

"It's not that. I don't mind what's been done to me – it's long over and the only remnants are chemicals in my brain. People…get used to things. After this long, even the skeleton has been assimilated seamlessly."

His breath was loud in his ears.

"Sorry. That was irrelevant. Where were we with the crew?"

She leaned forward, arm bridging the gap between them, and laid her hand on his. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at her. She was terrified.

Her tongue came out to wet her lips. He forgot what he was going to say.

"I should be the one apologizing, Kira. I thought you were a horrible creature, a mass murderer. But for the life you've lived you're…you have every right to hate everyone." Her voice fluttered like hummingbird wings.

"But you don't. You always try to help people – Norman, the crew, your pack. People that were overlooked. You're a _good _person, Kira. Please don't hate yourself. You, most of all-"

_What is she talking about? I was made to be an assassin, and I rebelled, and now I kill people for a living. The past is no excuse. Morality dictates we act correctly regardless of our past conditions. I kill people. Cause them to be killed for my own survival. The crew would be still alive if I hadn't involved them. The pack as well: that killer wanted me. _

_Results matter. What I intended – does it change the condition of the victim if I kill out of altruism or sadism? She is being irrational. Stockholm Syndrome. Yes, it's a common enough-_

Her fingers tightened around his. They were so soft. Had she been speaking?

She had moved, was sitting beside him. He drew in a breath, smelled cherries and lotus. She was shaking. He smelled fear like an undercurrent of blood.

He turned to regard her. Her lip quivered, and then she slumped. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, Kira."

This was bewildering. Most people had enough survival instinct not to get this close to him.

Still, he didn't think he could kill her. Not now.

---

_Get a hold of yourself, Lacus! _

Kira was staring at their hands again. Was that his way of telling her to let go? Maybe she was gripping too hard.

He had stopped listening halfway through, brow furrowing up as if he were in intense thought. She held back a sigh. She didn't think she was getting through at all.

Lacus was about to cry. Kira's perfect memory catalogued every single wrong done to him, and they weighed on her chest like stones, his eyes so angry and miserable and wounded it was hard to breathe, and he probably hated her now – she saw what his reaction had been to pity, in his chambers – touching him had been a mistake, he hated being touched, and- and she wasn't up to this, couldn't do this, his wounds were so deep and terrible and he was so casual about them there was just no way-

"Are you alright?" He looked at her quizzically.

She inhaled.

"Maybe this is too much." He looked wary, his voice unusually kind. "I'll leave you alone. I can see that I'm bothering you." He dislodged his hand.

She heard the defeat in his tone – he probably unsettled others a lot. She wasn't especially horrid for being too weak for him.

_No! This is your chance to prove that you're different!_

And so she gulped, pushing down the jitteriness and the tears, and grabbed his forearm.

His head snapped back, eyes wide as if he had just been shot.

She remembered what he had said and felt sorrow and strength. _He deserves to be heard. _"No, Kira, I'm fine. I insist, actually. Are you trying to get out of what you said you owed me?"

The amethyst orbs were befuddled, for a moment, and then with a quickening of her heart she thought they flashed amused.

"You caught my tactic very rapidly, Miss Clyne."

She gave a smile and felt the terror burn away.

There was a huge, sudden lurch, and she felt her stomach fly into her throat as she splayed forward ungracefully, landing on Kira's chest. A spill of hair trailed off her back and onto his arm. He was warm.

_Oh no. He really dislikes contact. What should I do? I hope he doesn't think I planned that. _

He blinked, completely distracted from the situation by her position across his chest. If it weren't for his shirt he could feel her cheek against his skin, limning with heat…

But no. How to extricate them both from this situation, with a minimum of embarrassment? If she would just get up, the issue would be resolved. Survival instinct nagged in the back of his mind – that lurch could not have been normal – but didn't seem to matter compared to the enormity of Lacus Clyne this close to him, breathing, her bosom pushing slightly against his abdomen.

_Shouldn't she spring back and offer an apology, or something? This is highly irregular. _

Enough. He had to fix this before the urge to embrace her overpowered his reason.

Gently, he reached out, gripped her yielding shoulders, and levered her back upright. Then he searched her face in the awkward silence, looking for an explanation.

He found none. And he couldn't detect fear or anger without first taking a whiff of her scent, which was heady and distracted him to other thoughts. _This is stupid. Why am I assigning significance to a simple fall? There are security issues to be addressed. I should go check if I am needed. _

She spoke, snapping him from his train of thought: "I'm sorry. I don't know what overcame me there. Thank you for…setting me upright again." A wavering smile, irresolute blue eyes.

_Is she still this terrified?_

Kira supposed it was about the norm for their depth of contact, but somehow he felt a little disappointed. He had, after all, tried to make her comfortable – something he had never attempted with a hostage. They were generally quickly gotten rid of, or rapidly outlived their usefulness.

_Perhaps it is that kind of thinking that leads her to fear you? _

He shrugged, sighed, and was about to speak when the walls turned the color of blood. A wailing drone flooded the ship and he stood, startled. There was an insistent rapping on the door, and quickly he tapped the release button.

Mwu la Flaga, one hand upraised (no doubt to knock again), opened his mouth, closed it for a second, then motioned for Kira to step out into the corridor. With a backwards glance at Lacus, Kira did so.

"Zaft forces and some local insurgents are playing cat-and-mouse in our backyard. Obviously we can't let them continue."

"Do we kill both?"

Mwu shot him a puzzled look. "No, just the Zaft forces…haven't you heard the phrase 'my enemy's enemy is my friend?''

_Yes, why do you think I chose to land on the Archangel? Moron. _"If the insurgents are being crushed by Zaft, they can't possibly be of much help to us, can they?"

Mwu sighed and started running towards the hangars, patting Kira on the back as he passed. "Not unless we save them first!"

_If he's trying to act paternal he's failing miserably. _

Kira turned the other way for a moment before making up his mind.

_No need to antagonize the command of this ship by refusing to assist. _

Kira took off after Mwu, easily overtaking the larger man. After he had talked to Lacus he felt...lighter.

--

Lacus exhaled loudly and flopped back on her bed, utterly exhausted. Weariness had seeped deep into the marrow of her bones and she stared unseeingly at the walls.

_That didn't go nearly as well as I'd hoped. _

She had completely frozen up after the fall, and now Kira was gone again – that was a good thing, she suddenly decided. She could use the time to regroup, maybe plan a different approach…

The walls grew blurry and she fell back, head nestled in the drowsy softness of the pillows, and she made a halfhearted attempt at fighting the weight of her eyelids before the world became dim.

---

_Let's see, now…from where emerge the roots of war? _

_The end of the Anno Domini (A.D.) timeline was marked by massive stagnation of the world economy as petroleum reserves emptied. In the bloody fury of the Reconstruction War – a conflict that makes the current look like a salad-fork fight – the first outlines of today's terrestrial power structure emerged. Ethno-religious strife was the cause – no surprise there. _

_The deployment of nuclear weapons in the Kashmir region, along with the rampaging new strain of influenza dubbed "S," devastated humanity to the point where even politicians began to see the semblance of reason. _

_Type S Influenza wiped out hundreds of millions; combined with war casualties humankind lost nearly a billion of its number. Baptism of fire, indeed, for the Cosmic Era. Nine years into the new timeline, the Reconstruction War is over, the birth throes of our new age ended. _

_The first major space station humans orbited was named after the Norse world-tree, Yggdrasil, positioned at Langrange Point 1. Sad to say it was destroyed in one of the opening acts of our present war: 2/22, Cosmic Era 70. _

_From CE 10 on, a massive space colony mobilization occurred on Earth, resulting not only in the construction of the Copernicus Lunar Base but also the deployment of the exploration ship Tchaikovsky, manned by 'first' Coordinator George Glenn. _

_The man was an idiot. With his overbloated, Messianic ego, he announced the existence of Coordinators – a nonsensical term for genetically modified humans, and perverted from its original intended meaning anyway – and proceeded to rocket off into space, most assuredly patting himself on the back the whole way. One would be hard-pressed to create a more chaotic means of announcing our existence._

_Obviously the world was hurled into tumult. Existing "Coordinators" kept their mouths shut and pretended to be highly talented natural-born prodigies. Environmental groups and the fanatically religious foamed at the mouth. CE 15: Lobbying organization Blue Cosmos begins its degeneration from savagely militant pressure organization with a veneer of credibility to savagely militant terrorist organization comprised mainly of inferiority-complex sufferers, weak-minded political buffoons, and the insane. _

_Partly due to their efforts, partly due to paranoia, a conference was convened during CE 16, banning the partial or total modification of genomes in fetuses. Obviously, a few people flouted these rules: mainly the very rich, who wanted only the best for their children._

_In an incident bizarrely reminiscent of the abortion controversies centuries past, a hospital secretly creating Coordinators was set ablaze in CE 17, bringing the tetchy issue again to the fore. Strangely enough, nothing much resulted from this, and in five years the news was overshadowed by the paradigm-destroying introduction of Evidence 01, courtesy of pompous spacefaring fool George Glenn: the very first 'credible' indication of extraterrestrial life. It is interesting to note that several formulas proposing the near-impossibility of our solitude in the universe had been developed by the early 2000s AD: more evidence, I suppose, on the idiocy of mankind. I wonder sometimes if seeing is believing for the blind._

_During the year of Glenn's discovery, Lacus' father was born in the Kingdom of Scandinavia. The Clyne family has an interesting pedigree – as far as Aristotle can tell, the records show that their name was changed from "Kline" in the declining stages of the AD era. Furthermore, a connection can be made to prominent 2000s AD pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKline, previously GlaxoWellcome and SmithKline Beckman: the legacy of funds and technical expertise may have contributed to the family's decision to attempt the Coordinator process._

_I wonder if Lacus knows that. _

_Patrick Zala, one of the men who commissioned my creation, was born the next year. He is one of the few men responsible for my design who have not yet died. I shall have to kill him, if I ever get the chance. Besides the obvious security concerns over his existence, he was and probably continues to be a genocidal lunatic. I remember several times during Conditioning that he attempted to integrate his beliefs with my core mindset – while I was supposed to be safely under hypnosis, of course. No doubt the death of his wife has brought this inner beast out in an unpleasant manner. _

_He was a very poor persuader. Not much given to logic either. Only the weak would follow such a man. I kind of enjoyed his visits, though. He was amusing and he had the most ridiculous eyebrows. And they generally stopped beating me on the days before his visits, to give my bones and organs time to recover. I was a pretty slow healer until eight, requiring nearly a whole week to regenerate an amputated limb. _

_But I digress. _

_Evidence 01 was relocated to Zodiac research station, Lagrange Point 5 – the future birthplace of the PLANTs. Intensive study began, running parallel to the Palestine Conference, in which major religious figures worldwide convened. The conclusions of both study and Conference led to a worldwide wane in the power of religious authorities, and thus the first Coordinator boom began. Rioting was kept to a minimum, the main bodies of dissent comprised of parents too poor to afford the modifications and the more zealous chapters of Blue Cosmos. _

_Cosmic Era 35: the Atlantic Federation finished construction of Ptolemaeus Lunar Base, attracting international ire. It quickly quelled its critics with the introduction of prototype mobile armors. The Eurasian Federation and Republic of East Asia rapidly followed suit. A chilling of international relations lead to a space arms race, with the Eurasian Federation establishing a preliminary base on the asteroid Artemis. _

_George Glenn, working alongside major Earth powers, began construction of the PLANTs in CE 38. They would serve as resource and production colonies for previously exotic technologies now entering the world market. _

_In the years to follow, the First Coordinator Generation would establish complete dominance in nearly every field of achievement, drawing intense fire from Natural critics and the newly revitalized Blue Cosmos. The Second Coordinator Generation, progeny of the first, would soon prove just as astounding as their parents. _

_CE 41: The man who I was programmed to kill, Murata Azrael, was born. _

_Patrick Zala and Siegel Clyne, cooperating on the construction of the PLANTs, met. The PLANTs were soon finished, and would be completely autonomous if they were allowed to produce food. With no military to speak of and minimal political representation, the manufacturing colonies were easy targets for Blue Cosmos terrorism. In the midst of this chaos, Al Da Flaga approached my father, and, promising him the funds necessary to create me, requested a clone of himself. _

_Thus, Rau La Flaga (now Le Creusete) was made._

_If he is a clone, then he is a Natural, seeing as how Al Da Flaga was most definitely a Natural. This…simply does not explain his piloting capabilities. What martial talent could he possibly have inherited from the genes of a businessman turned politician? _

No more time to muse. The thunder outside was by no means natural. The launch doors hissed open, revealing a maw of blazing yellow light, and as the Strike was disengaged from its locks it gripped the sword over its back, ready to draw.

Hunched down, the sun was less glaring. Flames sparked on the rails as he launched.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review!

Kira's little history review is mostly canon; there were one or two aspects that I made up.

Meh. I need to work on my dialogue skills. It's easier to write ten battle scenes instead of a single Kira/Lacus emotional scene...guess it's cause I'm a guy. --

Anyone else find it strange that Mwu was unable to fly an MS without Kira's OS, but Rau was better than Kira in a CGUE, despite being a clone (assuming cloning involves no genetic modification, as that would kind of defeat the purpose) of a Natural? Al Da Flaga must have been an insanely gifted pilot as well as a businessman and politician.


	14. Canto X

I don't think there should be any more errors. If anyone has found one, please notify me.

Hey guys, cranked this out because I really needed a vent after that SAT. The quote is at the end this time.

* * *

In the still darkness the pen-click was as loud as a gunshot. He stared ahead, eyes amber-hard, sweat beading down the side of his brow, fury twitching across the lines of his face. 

His thumb spasmed, and the pen clicked again.

"You need the money, do you not?"

Eyes shifting, side to side. Could he trust these people, these snakes? The steel around him smelled harsher, seemed to close in. If they found out…but no. It was as Da Flaga had said: humans enforced laws.

"Look at it this way: improvement creates happiness. This prototype you will be creating will be an improvement on the Coordinator template, yes?"

He gulped. A nod in the darkness.

"But just _think _what you could accomplish with our funds and this purpose! Not just an optimized Coordinator, a being who is to Coordinators what we are to Naturals! The next step in human evolution, Doctor, and by your hands."

He laid his hands flat on the table, felt the clammy wetness of his palms against his work papers. "My work…improves humanity. It spreads happiness. I do not manufacture _killing _machines."

"Oh?" A sonorous chuckle. The voice was genial, polite: who would have expected such a despicable being behind that voice?

The pen clicked one final time. "If you gentlemen would excuse me I still have work to do."

And then, swiftly, a ghost of wind, nothing of movement, a cold hard muzzle pressed into the meeting of his neck and his head. Sweat ran cold down his face; not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins. A tremor of motion as the pistol's safety clicked off.

The voice, again, near his ear now, so that he could feel the puffs of air coming from exhaled breaths: "There are carrots and there are sticks, _Doctor_. Nothing will stand in the way of our rise. We have dealt with the Naturals. Will you stop us?"

Fear squeezed his heart like a frozen snare. He gritted his teeth so hard he felt they would crack. Half-turning, he peered furiously into the shadows, noting the black gunmetal, the pale hand.

"How, exactly, would my refusal to create this _monster _stop the Zodiac-"

Suddenly the muzzle was pushed in deeper, grinding furiously into the top of his spine. He gasped, a ragged panting breath like a fish floundering on ice.

"You must learn to be careful with names, Doctor Hibiki. Those things still being born are fragile, you see. To name them may be to ruin them. And that is something neither of us wants."

"But I will not force you. Simply remember this: your finest creation, your heir, could elevate humanity significantly while proving the efficacy of your artificial womb. Or he could be the harbinger that revolutionizes humanity, greater in stature than even Glenn himself.

"After all, military technology soon penetrates the civilian market. Your first may be created for war, but the ones after – those could be scientists and doctors and artists, right? And then, perhaps, your wife may acknowledge how correct you are. How correct you have always been."

He slapped the pen down on the table with a vicious clang. _Does he really think his petty psychological maneuvers will get to me? _

"Get. Out." He spat, and the other complied, leaving in his wake only a mocking laugh and the lonely shadows of the workroom.

Ulen Hibiki turned back to his computer, eyes squinting at the light. His fingers danced over the keyboard, mapping out his son unborn…

And, months later, when his funding had all but dried up, (had he been too ambitious? Not financially alert? Were there strings being pulled, to manufacture his poverty?) he thought: _perhaps it would be alright to make a few adjustments. _

Just a few.

---

"Aristotle."

**Hm? **

"Perhaps we should make a few adjustments."

**For the desert? Sounds good. **

He had never been to Earth before, so true gravity was a new sensation for him. He hadn't thought it would be any different from the rotational gravity generated by most space colonies – and, in most cases, it wasn't.

He realized later (about the time he launched) that he would be using a mobile suit in true gravity. With this realization came another one:

Gravity sucked.

He had just barely managed to avoid a catastrophically embarrassing Gundam faceplant into the dunes. Now, his machine was bent over, as if kowtowing, arms at awkward angles, knees creaking bent.

Mwu appeared on the commscreen. "Hey kid, what's taking you so long?"

He managed to stifle a growl. "This machine is a space warfare model. Adapting it to the Earth's environment will take time, especially compensating for gravity and atmospheric refraction. The fact that we landed in the desert isn't helping. Go ahead without me."

The other pilot nodded and the transmission blinked out.

There was a rainstorm tapping of keys and he let the keyboard slide back in. The mobile suit was well-designed, and certainly powerful, but inelegant. The blocky modular composition of the weapon made it difficult to maneuver in Earth's thick air, and the unnecessarily colossal weapons systems were slow and inaccurate.

Though it was more heavily armed and armored than the Ambition, it was clumsy and lacked range of motion: a steel-shelled knight instead of an agile fencer.

_I should get my mobile suit fixed. Perhaps the ship's engineers could help me with Phase-Shift implementation…_

**Dozing off? That's not like you.**

His eyes immediately veered to the front, and saw…sand dunes.

_The battle is over there, moron. Has being around Naturals made you soft in the head? _

_No. It'd be…being around her._

Enough of that train of thought. He powered his thrusters into the – blue? – above and headed for the source of the explosions. The Skygrasper was already engaged with a pack of sliding BuCUEs, and on the other side of the shallow bowl of sand a convoy of jeeps, lightly armed, struggled pathetically against a LaGOWE.

He positioned himself with the sun at his back and plummeted with pinpoint savagery, drawing the hulking anti-ship sword as he fell, and struck like a sandsnake.

The LaGOWE froze as it split, cleaved straight in half, front and rear separated by a splinter of bloody light. It crumpled inwards, bleeding oil and smoke, the cannon on its back erupting into a coruscating mass of sparks and slag.

That got their attention.

The remaining mobile suits charged him in a blunt arrowhead formation, two leading the pack with the remainder coming behind, the BuCUEs on the fringes curling inward in a smooth pincer formation to catch him in crossfire, so that there was a mech on either side with a firing line facing him. A curtain of sand screened their movements, blown upwards by their monstrous treads, but they had practiced this a dozen times and moved like well-oiled gears.

_Convenient._ He did like it when the enemy did his work for him.

They fired in a fit of fury, possibly out of regard for their fallen commander, and so they did not check the laser designators, did not see _what _exactly they had locked on to.

So by the time they realized that the flanking BuCUEs, the jaws of the pincer, had destroyed each other in a storm of missiles - by the time they saw the balloons of flame mushroom in the maelstrom of sand - he was already behind them.

And then it was too late, because the anti-ship sword was sweeping across their perfectly ordered ranks like a scythe through millet.

There was a rain of scalding metal and engine parts: broken machine innards. No blood, no bodies, but an occasional wisp of red. A dull, heavy thunder blasted the desert and drowned their screams.

Still, he heard them, echoing off his skull: they were, after all, no different than the thousands of screams which had come before.

---

There were people coming from the convoy, streaming out in a tide of sun-tanned skin and faded desert garb, mute greens and vivid browns, and he scanned them carefully as they swarmed around the feet of the Strike.

Some were cheering, drunk on newly-rescued life, roaring with laughter and pounding each other on the back, whipping off dark blue bandanas and whooping, dancing, hugging each other. Others were stunned, sat silently on the sands, looking forward. A few peered heavenward, as if thankful for their deliverance. One glared at him.

He narrowed his eyes and caught the glare. _Now what would Ledonir Kisaka be doing out here? _

Mwu popped up on-screen again, gave him a rueful smile. "They love ya, kid. Go meet the fans."

_What? _

They had started banging on the Gundam with rocks, clamoring for the pilot. He stood up and sighed. _I don't have the time for this. _

The hatch popped open, and below, a hush fell on the crowd. With liquid speed he hoisted himself out of the cockpit and dropped twenty meters to the sand, landing with a soft patter on the balls of his feet.

Before they could surge upon him, a crushing tide, two men stepped forward. One was Kisaka, dressed in a dirty muscle shirt and rough khakis.

_A serious departure from his uniform. Is he undercover?_

The other was a bulky, weathered man that seemed to grow out of the sand: creases so deep they looked carved into his face and sallow crystal eyes.

The latter was about to speak when Kisaka held up a muscular arm, palm facing Kira. "I know this man, Cyan."

Kira tensed, preparing for any engagement. _I could take them. There's only seventy-six. _

A rough-worn hand was extended to him. Kira blinked. _A…handshake?_

Reluctantly he gripped the larger palm in his own.

"Signed up with the Earth Forces, have you, Scourge?"

He looked at Kisaka a while longer, then released his grip.

"No."

The colonel looked at him expectantly. He offered no answer. He turned to the man called Cyan.

"Do you have any food?"

---

Her dream was a miasma of shadow and blood, boiled together in a twining quagmire that threatened to throttle her. She gasped, pulled at her collar, the sheets, legs sliding against each other, head tossing side to side, scrunched up even deeper into the fetal position, breathing fast, faster. Her sweat was chilly, even under the sheets.

_Nothing made sense. The world had lost north and south, and she was pitching in a void where up lurched down and there was no day but the night. She shivered, the darkness frostbite-cold, and in the distance she heard the gnashing of teeth, remorseless. She was constantly moving – no, the world was moving around her. She stayed still. Vertigo threatened to overwhelm her. _

_The gnashing began to grow louder, as if approaching her, and suddenly she was suspended over the abyss, a huge pupil, and then the chains broke and she was diving, falling like a broken bird into a pitiless violet eye. _

Her eyelids were heavy, too heavy, but she forced them up and blinked as the world swam into focus. Her bed, a ruin of sheets, and the bed across, neatly made. The bland white of the walls, chair, desk. Pink-chan…somewhere.

_The other rooms have bunk-beds. Kira got us rooms without them, because he was afraid I'd bang my head. Miriallia told me that. I wonder…was that his real reason? _

Whatever had awoken her had left already. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. When she removed her fingers, Kira was in the room, glancing around as if looking for something. In his hand he held a bag of chips.

_A bag of chips? _He looked almost normal, munching on those, with his back turned to her. She cleared her throat softly, was about to speak, when he turned. He started at her presence, peering at her quizzically, as if this wasn't her room. Then, staring at the chips as if they had betrayed him, he dumped the half-filled bag in the garbage.

Strangely, she spoke before he did. "Why-"

"You look tired. Go back to sleep."

She was about to lie back down, but caught herself.

"I have a question." She put the tiniest bit of reproach in her voice.

Kira exhaled, stared at the wall, then her. The wall, her again.

He sat down on the bed opposite hers, face propped up with a hand. "Yes?"

He looked tired; even more than normal. There were huge dark crescents under his eyes, and he seemed to be fighting the weariness, his eyelids wavering. His skin was pale and his gaze – his gaze hadn't changed at all.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised. _Still, I should make this quick, so Kira can get to sleep. I've really been lazy about keeping track on time since he found me…how can I know whether it's day or night? _

She was originally going to ask him about the chips, but he had thrown them away. Was he expecting a serious question?

She bit her lip unconsciously for a second, then: "Why…do you treat me with more kindness now?"

She regretted it the moment it left her lips. _Oh, that didn't sound anything like what I'd intended. _Something about him just made her lose all composure at times…

He looked as if she had dropped an artillery shell between his knees.

She spoke up swiftly, before he could muster a reply. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. You see, I was originally going to ask you about the bag of chips, but then you threw them away, so then I was going to ask you why you threw them away, but I was feeling a little petulant from you interrupting me, and then you were still expecting a question, and I thought you needed a serious question, so I just…blurted the first thing that came to me, I really didn't mean it in that way…"

Lacus trailed off. He was cradling his forehead in his palm, eyes locked on to the ground, face a rictus of pain.

"Kira?"

Kira felt like an axe was being slowly driven into his brainpan, hacking wetly at a splintery incision on the fore of his skull. Thoughts were distant, ribbonlike, hard to grasp, slipping from his mind like…like…some slippery thing. Lacus' voice – what was she saying? – was far away. He felt like he was underwater, and she was the light above, disappearing as he sank.

_Am…I unraveling? Too much strain on one body, one mind? No. My design specifications…I should be able to handle this level of stress comfortably for the next fifty years. _

_What is this? Some sort of system shock? The events today have pushed me, yes, but certainly not far enough that I would enter hibernation. Physically, mentally they haven't been bothersome at all. Well, maybe that last encounter. Regardless…_

_The brain is adaptable, but it dislikes sudden change. If some new variable entered that disrupted existing paradigms, a central nervous system of my complexity would be forced into an amorphous state, for a time, to recover. To change. _

_It is _her_. She is doing this, has affected me like this. _

_I cannot afford to have this happen. Not now. Never. _

_I need to sleep. I will not think about it. I will force myself not to remember. _

He had never been able to do that. Memory crept over him like a plague of beetles.

---

The bonfires dance merrily in the night. To him they seem almost pagan: revelers circling them, bright licks of flame carving up the darkness. The moon is huge, filling the sky with silver, dwarfing the fistful of stars scattered across the void above.

And to think, they plunged from that void, hours ago…not longer? He has been on Earth an eternity since she spoke to him. He feels that he had passed some turning point, though he cannot identify what it is. It is a mildly disquieting feeling. He quenches it.

He is almost in a meditative state right now, halfway between watching the celebration and watching his thoughts, stone in a stream of black water. He breathes in and smells char from the fires, sand from below, a pungent hint of alcohol, and a trace of her.

Strange. But she grasped his hand, this side of eternity, so it is really not so outlandish.

His sister, also, is here in the camp. That had been a surprise for him.

Cagalli does not remember him – no surprise there. He wonders if she is really his _sister_ – genetically, they are complete strangers. Socially as well, though that does not matter to him.

She is passionate, almost as passionate as Father was. She has Father's eyes and hair, and something of his heart. Kira does not know if this is a good thing.

He ponders, idly, if he should feel anything, knowing that she is close by. The last time they saw each other was during infancy. He had ignored her, mainly – he was too busy thinking.

Somewhat disappointingly, he feels nothing - especially nothing approaching love or camaraderie. He muses on the idiosyncrasies of humans for a few minutes before he decides he should, at least, make an effort.

He stands up on slim legs. He shall pay her a visit.

His predator's eyes pick her out easily in the desultory radiance of the fires. She is sitting across from someone, a hint of green eyes. Something protective uncurls inside him: is that a male? There is a huge bulk behind her. She is holding a gun, waving it dangerously.

Her voice, her shout, blends easily enough into the conviviality of the night. But to Kira, it cuts the air like a saber.

"Athrun Zala! You get back here…"

His eyes alight on the bulk again, blood pumping through his system, hard enough he can feel it in his eardrums. The shape is a reddish hue, clumsy, fallen on its knees, burn marks on its hands, but he cannot mistake it.

X-303 Aegis.

And now the world is slowing, still, and there is only the pulse of adrenaline and the rhythm of his feet, red a veil falling across his vision, and from somewhere comes a seed, twirling, brilliant, beautiful, and it shatters into a thousand shards of light.

Vengeance sings sweet, trills in his mind, and he can see it now, his palm reared back to pierce, slamming forward, a knife of flesh, upwards, past the ribcage, into the worthless murderer heart-

"_Athrun Zala was- is the man I will marry someday."_

His strength flees him. He staggers to his knees. Around him, the world whips past, going too fast, spinning, and he feels sick for the first time in years. It is as if his chest has been punctured with a spear – no, it is worse, a thousand times worse.

_He feels as if something has been stolen from him, but he cannot place it. Something precious, whose value he has not realized until this moment. Whatever it is, its beating fills his mind, too massive, a wall of sound, thud-thud, thud-thud, and he feels blood pour warm and thick onto his hands. _

---

In the desert  
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,  
Who, squatting upon the ground,  
Held his heart in his hands,  
And ate of it.  
I said, "Is it good, friend?"  
"It is bitter - bitter", he answered,  
"But I like it  
Because it is bitter,  
And because it is my heart."

_-Stephan Crane, "In the Desert"_

* * *

I need ideas for a new story summary, because I got bored of the old one. Anyone have a suggestion? Anyone _like _the old one?

Also, I'm getting some questions from people who don't understand the plot of this chapter, which is pretty understandable since I made it so convoluted. Basically the chronological order of events is messed up, for dramatic effect.

1. Part one shows Ulen Hibiki's decision to create Kira, as he is now.

2. Part two continues where the last chapter finished.

3. After Kira asks for food, he basically hangs around Desert Dawn's camp, notes Cagalli's existence, etc. At dinnertime, he notices Athrun next to Cagalli, moves to kill him (visualizing it in his mind), but remembers that Athrun is Lacus' engagement partner, and can't bring himself to kill him, which is highly disturbing to Kira.

4. Lacus wakes up and talks to Kira. Kira goes to sleep in Lacus' room.

Please review!


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